Persistence
by Caliban22170
Summary: SVU Detectives and US Marshal Andy Eckerson are on the trail of Terry Paige, escaped serial rapist and murderer, who vowed revenge on the people who put him in prison, including Elliot and Olivia.
1. Prologue

Summary – Basically, I thought that US Marshal Andy Eckerson from the fifth season episode 'Escape' didn't get a fair shake. So he's back to round up another escaped con. And maybe Olivia will say yes to a "drink" this time. First person narration is Andy's POV, third person is regular third person run o' the mill storytelling and there you go.

Rating – R – language, violence, adult content, it's all here

Disclaimer – I think it would be a little presumptuous of me to claim I owned these fantastic characters, considering I don't even own the computer I'm typing on. Dick Wolf, you lucky dog.

Note – As this is my first fanfic, I'm hoping for constructive reviews, but flames are fine if you feel you must. A lot of the chapters will be overlapping, what with the changing POVs and all, so sorry if that causes annoyance. Oh, and I'm not a New Yorker, but I have a map and I can pretend, so apologies for geographical errors. Ditto for medical and police stuff.

Every morning I wake up tangled in sweaty sheets after having the same dream. Well, not exactly the same, the location changes. But her apartment, my apartment, the interrogation room at her precinct, the middle of Central Park, it doesn't matter. We're together, and it's fantastic, just like I remember. Better even. And I always wake up right before the best part. But the thing that really kills me is what I now consider the best part is no longer the physical. Instead, I feel like I'm going to die every morning when I wake up before she says the magic words –

_I love you, Andy._

Over the past two weeks, my new ritual is opening my eyes in the half-light of 5 AM and proclaiming, "I love you too!" to my empty bedroom.

It's been three months since I've seen her, three months since the Baxter thing wrapped up, and I can't get her out of my head. It had been years since we'd seen each other and I never expected that she would become the center of my universe again so quickly. At first I told myself that it was because she'd flat out rejected me, wouldn't even allow me to buy her a drink after a hard day's work, and I could never resist a challenge. I sent her flowers the next day, two dozen roses with a note saying how sorry I was that I'd put her in danger and would she let me buy her dinner. She never called. And I, fearless US Marshal Andy Eckerson, who chased dangerous criminals everyday, couldn't bring myself to call her. I had no problem facing down escaped convicts with guns pointed in my face, but the prospect of a second, most likely definitive rejection from the only woman I've ever really loved had me too terrified to make a phone call. Not that I didn't make the attempt – I made it as far as the sixth digit in her number once before losing my nerve and hanging up. How's that for bravery?

I do still have the courage for the footpaths in the park, however, so I jump into some sweats and head out for an early run. I work out a lot these days – running, swimming, weight-lifting – because I like to think that it helps me clear my head. I can focus on my breathing and let her slip away. Not really. She just drifts around the back of my mind instead of pressing to the forefront of my thoughts, like she doesn't want me to get hurt because I ran into a tree while thinking about her.

By the time my hour long run is over and I stretch before heading back to my apartment, she's in charge of my brain again. Here comes the most depressing and degrading part of my day. I get in the shower telling myself that today will be different, today I won't let her affect me. I know my body is disobeying, but I still have to look down to confirm the betrayal. I feel a little ashamed that I've been reduced to this as my only means of release. I'm mainly disappointed in myself for not finding someone to replace her. No, not replace...stand in for her I suppose. I'm not kidding myself here, because I'm an attractive guy who used to have no problems with the ladies. But after I had to slog my way through an embarrassing explanation to a third woman about why I'd called her the wrong name, I decided to give up. It's officially a dry spell, six weeks and counting.

The most unnerving part is that there's only one acceptable way that I can see it ending. I want her arms wrapped around me, her lips pressing mine. I want to wake up and see her smile as she opens her eyes. Her big, dark, sparkling eyes. Oh, God, I miss staring into her eyes.

I lean my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, thankful the I can begin the day with a certain pressure relieved, but knowing that she'll still be with me all day, no matter what I do to try and wash her away. I step out of the shower and towel myself dry, noting that it's just shy of 7 and I can have some breakfast before heading to the office.

I'm deciding between Frosted Flakes and Corn Flakes with sugar poured all over them when the phone rings. I answer tentatively, always thinking that it could be her on the other line. At 6:55 AM on a Wednesday. Right.

Fortunately, it's a different her, one I'm not scared out of my wits to talk to, my partner Liz Healey.

"Morning, Eckerson! Did I wake you?"

"Nah. Just about to have breakfast," I reply, trying not to sound either disappointed or relieved.

"I'll buy you a bagel or something, but you gotta get to the office right away because there's been a major prison break. Terry Paige was being transported from Sing-Sing to the city for some damn reason and he managed to take down the two guards with him and banged one up pretty bad and we think he hijacked a car and he's headed for the city so we have to..."

I interrupt before Liz can shove any more dramatic details down my throat. "Hey, slow down. Who is this Paige guy?"

"Sorry, Andy, things are just a little hectic right now. Paige went down for the kidnapping, torture, rape and murder of those 5 college girls back in 2000 and 2001and he made some kind of comment to his cell-mate about another vic and Manhattan SVU found enough evidence to tie him to the case so he was supposed to be arraigned today on a sixth rape/homicide today. This guy's a real piece of work though, vowed revenge on the jury, the cops, the DA, the judge, the witnesses and their dogs after his trial, so we're coordinating with SVU on the canvass of potentials, just to give a heads up and all, although I'd say coordinating isn't quite the right word because they've got command even though we're supposed to take point on cases like this, but none of that changes the fact that this guy's dangerous. Hey, Andy, you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'll be in soon," I answer and hang up. I vaguely recall that I'm now in a hurry because there's a murderer on the loose, but somehow that doesn't seem so important at the moment. There's only one thought in my head, the only thought that ever really occupies me now, because we're coordinating with SVU. Manhattan SVU.

Olivia.


	2. Chapter 1

The station was unusually busy for 8:30 AM due to the escape of Terry Paige. Detective Elliot Stabler looked up from the file spread over his desk as his partner, Detective Olivia Benson, large coffee in hand, sat heavily down at her desk without greeting anyone. He immediately felt the shockwave of the outburst that was approaching before she opened her mouth. He attempted to cut her off before she got going, but barely got her name out.

"Liv..."

"How the hell did he manage it? Armed guards, cuffs, the works and he still manages to get away. Is he fucking Houdini or something?"

"Liv, relax, we're gonna get him again."

"How many people do you think he's gonna kill before we do? This is our fault, Elliot. No, no. This is _my_ fault. I had to go and dig up the evidence that connected him to an unsolved rape-homicide. Death row just wasn't enough. I had to make the bastard pay some more. I couldn't just accept that he was locked up for good and never coming back." She slammed her fist against her desk, causing papers, pens, and Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola to scatter. "Oh, not to mention my sorry-ass theory that he might give up the name of his partner if we tried to get him on another charge. What the hell was I thinking?"

Elliot sat and allowed her to vent her anger before interrupting, "You did your job and you did the right thing, Liv. Emma Anderson's parents need this. They need to see the man who raped and killed their daughter pay for his crimes. We were just making it official. This isn't our fault. It sure as hell isn't yours. Paige is the perp here, he's the one responsible for all this crap."

He looked at her steadily while speaking, trying to calm her down a little with the intensity of his gaze. Still maintaining eye contact, he rose and moved toward her, sitting on the edge of her desk as he reached out to touch her shoulder in a gesture of support and comfort. It seemed to work. She lowered her voice when she spoke again, "He wouldn't have been coming into the city today if it weren't for me. He wouldn't have gotten away."

"And if you hadn't seen the link between Paige and Anderson her parents would never have known that the man responsible for killing their daughter was getting what he deserved." He couldn't believe how much it affected him to see her in such emotional pain, and felt willing to do anything to relieve her of at least a portion of it. "You did what was best for them."

"Yeah, now they know who did it and they're about to find out that he's back on the street. Real comforting, El."

Elliot smiled and replied, "If Paige could have been here to see what I just saw I think he'd turn himself in out of fear. I would _not_ want an angry Olivia Benson after my ass."

She tried to hide the small smile playing across her face and Elliot wondered if there were some kind of Olivia Benson he really would mind chasing his own ass. He immediately dismissed the thought as his wife's face popped into his head and tried to focus on what his partner was now asking.

"Why were they bringing him down so early? He wasn't due before the judge til this afternoon."

"I dunno," he answered honestly as he stood and walked back to his own desk, feeling good that he'd been able to cheer her enough to elicit some sarcasm. With so little to go on until Cragen got off the phone with details from the prison, he decided to distract her and reduce her frustration by trying for another smile. "But think of it this way, when shit like this goes down early in the morning, you have a great excuse for letting your hair look like that."

She self-consciously ran her hand through her short locks, which were a little less perfectly arranged than usual, he noted to himself. He was rewarded a moment later by a sarcastic raised eyebrow and a smile that told him he'd gone just far enough to elevate her mood slightly again. She even managed a biting reply, "So do you think I should go for the patented Elliot Stabler receding hairline?"

He rubbed the top of his head and feigned hurt. "Ouch. That was below the belt, Liv."

"You're a big boy, you'll get over it," she said as she maintained the arch of her eyebrow the way she always did to shove her point home. "Just once though, I think I'd like to get a call at 7 AM from someone trying to sell me new storm windows or life insurance, instead of being called to a crime scene or the station."

Munch, apparently seeing that it was safe to join the conversation, replied with characteristic dry wit, "Haven't you heard? Perps have the same motto as the Army. They commit more felonies before 6AM than most people commit all day."

"Alright, cut the snappy patter people. The Marshals are on their way and I don't want them to find us dragging our feet."

All eyes turned to Captain Donald Cragen as he silenced his squad and directed them to gather around the board behind Elliot and Olivia's desks. Elliot watched as his captain taped up Paige's picture and along with those of potential new victims, but his attention was on Olivia, who had given a strange start at the mention of the Marshals' involvement. They both knew that escaped cons were in the Marshals' jurisdiction. He filed her response away to ask about later as he refocused on Cragen. "We're starting by looking at potential targets for Paige's revenge since it's gonna be damn near impossible to start by looking directly for Paige, as he has no family, no apartment and no known safehouse."

"Yeah, not that we ever found," Olivia interjected, upset enough about this hole in the case to get over her momentary flinch. "We still don't know where his damn 'farmhouse' is."

"All the more reason to start with what we do know," Cragen continued. "Paige vowed revenge in open court, so it's a pretty fair bet that he might go after some of the people he threatened. The warden at Sing-Sing sent over his notes on Paige's conduct in prison when he found out that we were going to trial on the Anderson murder. It seems that our man began focusing on more specific targets about 18 months ago. He's been telling anyone who will listen that he's going to kill Judge Petrovsky, Trevor Langon, Marcia Baron and you two." Cragen finished by looking significantly at the two detectives sitting in front of him.

"Why's the dumb son of a bitch want his lawyer dead?" Fin questioned. "Langon's been running his appeal and was supposed to defend him again in the Anderson trial. Even if he is scumbag defense attorney, Langon ain't stupid enough to risk his own life for money, just his client's."

"Further proof that we poor shmucks on city salaries can't even fathom the kind of cash Langon rakes in from guys like Paige," Munch cracked, looking critically over the rims of his glasses at his partner.

"We'll look at why once we have Paige in custody. Huang should be back from vacation next week, so he can have some fun with him then. For now I want us to start checking in on these potential vics. Munch, Fin, go talk to Langon."

"Did we ever figure out where Paige got the money to pay for a high-price mouth piece like Trevor Langon?" Munch questioned as he slipped into his coat.

Before anyone could answer, a blonde woman built like a linebacker in a pantsuit, interrupted the meeting, "I thought your report claimed it was with money he'd stolen from his victims' accounts, even though it was never conclusively proven and it seems strange that he'd still be using the money you haven't been able to trace." She paused to smile expansively. "Liz Healey, US Marshals. This is my partner, Andy Eckerson. Captain Cragen..." She paused again to allow Cragen to identify himself.

"We've met your partner," he stated, reluctantly reaching out to shake Healey's hand before turning to address Andy coldly, "Didn't get enough of us last time, Marshal Eckerson?"

Elliot fixed his eyes on the man who had almost gotten his own partner killed three months earlier. That must have been the reason she'd reacted to the Marshals' involvement; she was afraid this jerk would be back to screw things up again. Elliot continued staring, wondering if Eckerson had volunteered for the case in order to get another chance at Olivia. Internally, Elliot grinned over the lack of effect the giant bouquet of roses had had on her three months before, but maintained his icy stare, hopeful he was communicating the contempt he felt for any person who would put his partner in danger. Eckerson at least seemed to have the presence of mind to look a little embarrassed and ashamed as he answered Cragen, "Sir, I truly regret the events that occurred the last time I worked with SVU, but I hope that they will stay in the past. All I'm interested in is getting Paige back on death row where the son of a bitch belongs."

No one spoke as Eckerson looked at each detective in turn, daring someone to question his dedication to the job. Elliot engaged him in a staring contest until they were interrupted by a serious looking uniform, who walked over and broke the temporary silence. "Captain, you'd better take a look at this." He led them over to the TV in the corner. "It looks like the media has already picked up on this."

Fin let out a low whistle, "Man you know this shit is heavy when the Today show is all over it."

On the screen, Katie Couric was describing the details of Paige's escape and violent history. "...convicted and sentenced to death in 2002 for the rapes and murders of five area college students, Paige was scheduled to appear in court today to face charges for a sixth rape-homicide. Police are warning the public that Paige is very dangerous and should not be approached. Any contact should be reported to the NYPD or US Marshals." Paige's picture and a hotline number appeared on the screen. "Now back to our continuing series on low-carb diets in..."

Cragen snapped the TV off. "Ok, people, let's get our asses in gear before Tom Brokaw joins the investigation. If you two Marshals don't mind, I'm going to split you up. Healey, you're with Stabler, Eckerson, with Benson." Two voices rose to protest as the group returned to the detectives' desks.

"Captain, I don't really see the value in splitting up partners who are used to..."

"Cap, what's the point of this, especially since..."

"...working together and familiar with the protocols of different agencies and..."

"...he's the one who got her taken hostage the last time he barged in..."

"...not even under your jurisdiction."

"...and I'm not sending my partner off with some creep who's gonna get her killed."

After waiting for the tirades to finish, Cragen began speaking in what Fin had named his 'dad' tone, "Marshal Healey, when I spoke to your boss this morning he clearly stated that you two would be working for me for the duration of this case and your assignments were up to my discretion. Elliot, in case your memory has gotten foggy, let me remind you that Paige threatened both Olivia's life and yours in open court. If he comes after either one of you, I don't want to make it easy for him by having you both together." He paused to hand out file folders. "You have your assignments. Go get this guy."

Healey directed a hard stare at the two detectives. "We need to get some stuff out of the car. We'll meet you outside." Eckerson followed slowly. Elliot could have sworn the man looked back at Olivia, who was studiously staring down at her desk, as he passed through the door. He was going to have to keep an eye on him.


	3. Chapter 2

Olivia had been in a sort of fog since she'd seen Andy Eckerson enter the squad room. She was reminded of every bad romantic comedy she'd ever seen, where the edges of the picture turned fuzzy as the heroine watched her unrequited true love walk into the room. The part that immediately preceded said heroine tripping over her own feet or walking into a wall, thereby calling undue embarrassing attention to herself. There mere vision of such a scenario caused Olivia to duck behind her computer screen, hiding the blush she'd never be able to explain without admitting the effect that Andy had just had on her.

She peeked out from behind her computer and felt a schoolgirl-like jealousy when she found that he was not even looking at her, but speaking to her Captain. Cragen was baiting him, but his response was so perfectly stated, so chivalric...she stopped herself just before her imagination could throw in the shining armor and white horse. There was nothing special about his manner, his reply to Cragen. He was a professional law-enforcement officer who regretted a bad call but wouldn't let it affect his performance. She immediately wished her brain had come up with a word other than performance; she hid her deeper blush, brought on by more intimate memories of Andy, by pawing through one of the bottom drawers of her desk.

"...should see this." A uniform was saying something. She didn't know or care what.

She snapped to attention when the rest of her squad began moving across the room and followed them without really knowing why they were leaving the board that contained all the information they could possibly use to find Paige. She was surprised to discover that this was the first time she'd thought about Paige since the Marshals arrived. She had no idea why Andy was affecting her so strongly. She'd gone years without thinking about him, but spending a few days with him three months before had apparently flipped a switch in her brain that made him the main subject of her thoughts. It hadn't even happened until he'd left and it was too late for her to change her mind. _You could have called him_, a little voice whispered from the back of her mind. She tried to drown it out. He was a regular cop. A tall, gorgeous, dedicated cop. She paused to reflect on the fact that she usually applied this description to her partner, but couldn't focus on why that could possibly be important. Elliot, after all, was not available to her and, for all his charm and friendship, had certainly never made her feel like Andy just had. She could only describe it to herself with the uninspired analogy of angry butterflies playing ice hockey in her stomach.

She began a mental mantra as she tried to watch the news report, _I'm over him. We don't belong together. He's just here to do his job. Just like me._ She immediately regretted the comparison. The last time she'd seen him, she'd basically told him that she needed someone more stable. Someone less like herself. Since then, she'd repeatedly caught herself thinking about him, about a them that no longer existed. After every bad date, she had wondered how he could have made the evening more fun. She occasionally woke up in the morning feeling for his warm body next to her. Missing him was getting to be a distraction, but, if the last five minutes were any indication, she wasn't sure that having him back would be any less of one, even if it would be more pleasant.

Her reflections were interrupted by Cragen's voice, "...split you up. Healey, you're with Stabler, Eckerson, with Benson."

She immediately felt his eyes on her, but resisted her first impulse to stare back. She slowly looked up and met his gaze. Both looked away at the same moment, she at her desk and he at the door, following his partner out. She felt his gaze boring through her for an instant before he exited, but again refused to look up. The air in the room decompressed as soon as he was gone and she felt her lungs burning with the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She exhaled slowly and tried to collect herself by focusing on the file in front of her until Elliot sat down at his desk, sighing heavily and breaking her concentration.

"Liv, I'm sorry, but Cap won't budge," he apologized. "It looks like you're gonna be stuck with Eckerson."

"It'll be fine, El," she replied, hoping that her partner would assume that her nerves had to do with the case rather than Andy. She decided she should add something to make him feel better. "You know I can take care of myself. I didn't get hurt last time, I won't this time."

Wrong button. Elliot exploded, "He's just such a pompous prick. Did you hear what he said to Cragen? Just here to do his job my ass. He's here because he wants you...to see he's not a screw up. Y'know, after that fiasco last time he's really got something to prove. And he'll be trying doubly hard because he's gotta work miracles to make up for his fuck-up."

"I said I'll be fine," she said, smiling through gritted teeth. Elliot's concern, which she would normally have found touching, was wearing on her nerves. He had no right to criticize Andy professionally on the basis of one case. She was shocked by her sudden willingness to take Andy's side, against her own partner of all people. On the upside, if Elliot were this concerned about Andy's ability to do his job, it meant she was doing a better job of hiding her attraction than she thought, even if Elliot had just implied that Andy was clearly interested in her with his well-timed pause. Her spirits gave a small leap when she realized that there really could be a chance for her and Andy.

"I don't want you getting hurt, Liv," Elliot said, softening his tone and calling her back to reality. "You're a good cop, a great cop. You know I'd never question that. But you're also my partner and my friend. I care about you. If anything ever happened to you..."

They were interrupted as Andy appeared out of nowhere at the side of Olivia's desk. "Sorry, but Healey is a little anxious to get to the courthouse. She seems to think Petrovsky will be the first target. Y'know, as the trial judge and all..." he trailed off as Elliot stood to get his coat without acknowledging him.

"Liv, be careful," the detective whispered, just loud enough for Andy to hear before heading toward the door.

When he seemed sure that Elliot was gone, he turned, and opened his mouth to speak to her for the first time in three months. She held her breath. Again.

"So, hi."

"Yeah, hi." She exhaled, hoping she sounded normal, professional. Unafraid. He was speaking again.

"I guess we're gonna be working together again."

She found it hard to concentrate. Her head was reeling. Afraid? Where had that come from? She wasn't afraid. He was her ex-boyfriend, not some rapist or pedophile; there was no reason to be afraid of him. A voice in the back of her mind told her she had to answer him. She tried to sound nonchalant. "Looks like it."

"Look, if, uh, you don't think this is going to work out I can talk to your Captain and see if he'll, uh, I know he can't put you with your partner like you want, but he could put me with Stabler and you with Healey." She was more surprised by his demeanor than anything else. His tone was quiet and his eyes were almost sad as he seemed to perceive her unwillingness to work with him. She wasn't at all happy that he didn't realize the reason why. She tried to salvage the conversation.

"Andy, I'm sorry. I'm not angry about being partnered with you, I'm just upset about the case. Paige wouldn't have had the opportunity to escape if it hadn't been for me." She tried let her feelings of guilt overpower her feelings for him. Her success was limited. Nothing was breaking through, not even the normal things she could count on – she knew she was in trouble when she couldn't escape into her job. His focus on the job, however, seemed tighter than ever.

"We should get going. Marcia Baron has probably heard about Paige on the news by now."

She looked at him for a moment, wondering why he hadn't tried to tell her the situation wasn't her fault, like everyone else was doing. Like he should do if he cared about her. Even though she was not searching for it, she found his lack of sympathy disheartening. He simply watched her as she put her coat on, following her movements. They walked out of the precinct in silence.


	4. Chapter 3

It's a well documented fact that dogs and beautiful women can sense fear. Dogs, using their superior olfactory senses, can detect the changes in hormone levels, the increases in epinephrine that indicate the readiness of the fight or flight response. It has yet to be discovered why beautiful women share this ability, as they do not possess super-human sensory powers, but the fact remains that they do. Although men have yet to find a way to fool a dog's nose, they have fortunately developed an effective means for deceiving beautiful women. The secret is acting like a jerk. Then the beautiful woman in question will be diverted by her need to assert herself. She will be so busy disliking the jerk that she will pass over the scared little boy in the corner.

Being acquainted with this information, I am currently being a jerk. She thinks I'm an arrogant pig, so I play it up. After I confront her captain, I make eye contact with everyone but her. Even so, she's the only thing in the room that's occupying my attention. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, discreetly I hope. She must not notice it, because she'd never blush the way she is if she knew I were watching. I briefly entertain the notion that it's for me. I used to be able to make her turn red by looking at her just the right way in a crowded room; I had so many tricks that turned her on. Now I'm blushing slightly. These musings distract me to the point that I have no idea why we're gathering around the TV or what anyone is saying until her captain says my name.

"...Eckerson, with Benson."

Even though I haven't been paying attention, I know these words can only mean one thing. I can hardly believe the effort it's taking not to smile about her captain partnering us. I look at her, really look at her for the first time since entering her precinct. She's absolutely beautiful. I can't believe we'll be together until this case is over. Maybe Paige will hide in a hole and not do anything so he'll be hard to catch. I'm struck by what a selfish bastard I've become in the past minute, but I'm not overly surprised that I'm putting my feelings for her ahead of my job. I'm pretty sure the reverse was what broke us up. What really confuses me now is how I ever could have put anything in my life before her. I guess that was when I really was a jerk instead of just acting like one.

She can feel me staring and she finally looks up. Ours eyes meet for a second before we both turn away. I'm encouraged that she's acting just as shy as I am. I can see in her eyes that she wants me to think that she doesn't want to work with me, but she seems like she's hiding something deeper. Or maybe she really does despise me. I wish I could still read her well enough to tell exactly what it is. I'm sure she would hate me if I could, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to get back inside her head.

I notice Healey walking out the door and I follow her without knowing why. I wish I'd been paying more attention to what was going on. I think Healey and Stabler were arguing. Whatever. She'll tell me more than I care to know once we get out of earshot. It must have been something that upset her because she's already holding her arms stiff enough to impersonate a mannequin. I glance back over my shoulder for a better view. Still looking down at her desk. I guess the seeing the top of her head is better than not seeing her at all.

Healey starts in as soon as we're in the elevator. "Can you believe the nerve of that Cragen? Splitting us up because he wants to keep his own lousy detectives safe and then claiming he has the authority to do it and giving _us_ assignments like we're the local morons and...," she pauses as the elevator doors open and stays silent until we walk through the front doors. "We're the ones who catch these guys, we should be in charge of the investigation because, well, I know you're not supposed to say stuff like this even when everybody's thinking it, but if it weren't for the SVU this guy wouldn't have gotten out in the first place and I heard that that Benson you're gonna be stuck with again is the one who pushed for the new charges so she's really the one..."

My face burns. "That's too far, Healey. Paige is the bad guy here. We don't need to start jurisdictional wars over this."

"Hey, it's not about jurisdiction, it's about competence, especially since it was her fault last time too, when she got kidnapped."

"That wasn't her fault. What are you talking about?," I question, wishing once again that I had paid more attention upstairs and feeling a little vulnerable. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I thought watching Olivia upstairs, because Healey has somehow found the chink in my armor without even trying.

"Benson, she got herself taken hostage on your last case with SVU and you didn't want to say anything up there against them because you blame yourself." She pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I guess that explains all your support in there. I could have used some help, Andy. You just stood there the whole time. You never said a word."

I wonder if she really does know why I'm so distracted. I try to change the subject, "Liz, these are the shortest sentences I've ever heard you use."

She sighs like a harried baby-sitter, "Andy, I know that you're upset that we have to be here, especially after what happened on the Baxter case, but you don't have to side with SVU to try and make it up to them, especially since you have nothing to apologize for, because you're a good officer and I know you'll do your job and show these local bastards what it takes to be a US Marshal."

I smile and she thinks she's made me feel better with her insight. She'd slug me if she knew what I was really smiling about. I'm suddenly very glad that I never told Healey about my history with Olivia. She has enough fun mocking me about my ill-luck with fellow law-enforcement officers. I've tried to explain to her that I can't deal with civilian girlfriend who doesn't understand the demands and danger associated with being a Marshal, but I guess my failed relationships in the US Attorneys office and flings with FBI agents have proven, at least to my partner, that I'm incapable of a real romantic relationship with anyone. I would hardly want her on my case over an NYPD Detective, especially someone as important to me as Olivia. I like Healey most of the time, even if she can't form a sentence with fewer than eight clauses, but she has a serious bug up her ass about the significance of the US Marshals and our perceived authority. It's actually led me to wonder if she's suggesting that I should stay in the family and date a fellow Marshal; then I laugh because I know it's her awkward way of hitting on me. She spends so much time on the job that she doesn't get out much, and I think she looks at me as her 'office husband.' My smile gets wider as I imagine what a train wreck an actual marriage with Healey would be and she returns my smile, still apparently thinking she's made a difference in my attitude toward working with SVU.

The idea of marriage has immediately swung my train of thought back around to Olivia, so I decide to cut off the conversation before Healey can make any more unwanted remarks about her. I don't want to give her a chance to give me any more advice about dealing with my past problems with SVU either. I pretend that I'm eager to get started on the case, which, of course, I am, if not in the wholly professional manner that my partner expects. "I'm gonna run back up and see what's taking Benson and Stabler so long." Healey waves me off as she leans into the back seat of my government-issued Chevy Suburban to retrieve her files for the case. I'm smiling all the way back up to the squad room.

My cheerful mood breaks when I get back upstairs and I see them talking. She's so comfortable with him. I flash back to three months ago. She told me she needed stability. Stabler. It hits me like a sucker punch – she needs someone more stable, _stabler_ than me. Elliot Stabler to be exact. I'm such an idiot. I interrupt them and tell Stabler that Healey is ready to go. He actually warns her to be careful right in front of me before he leaves, looking like he'd rather shoot me than leave me with her.

Olivia and I are finally left alone together. I've been dreaming about this moment for three months, and I waste it engaging her in the clumsiest small talk ever. She makes it so obvious that she doesn't want to work with me. All I've wanted is to be close to her, but I don't want her to suffer for it. Even so, I astonish myself with my response. "Look, if, uh, you don't think this is going to work out I can talk to your Captain and see if he'll, uh, I know he can't put you with your partner like you want, but he could put me with Stabler and you with Healey." I'm actually volunteering to split us apart. I'm an even bigger idiot than I thought.

She must see that it's making me hate myself because she feeds me a line about being worked up about the case and not being angry at me. Or she knows that the offer is too little too late because Stabler has just left. Going back to business seems like the best solution, so I suggest that we head for Marcia Baron's apartment in the Village. She doesn't speak to me once on the way down to my car.

I want desperately to start a conversation. I'm tempted to ask her why she isn't saying anything about the Baxter case. Or the flowers. Or the dinner invitation. The temptation is thoroughly quashed when I remember she has someone else and isn't interested in me. I decide to believe she never received the roses. She was never the type of person to omit a 'thank you' where appropriate. The silence becomes unbearable as we walk out of the precinct and I decide to say what I should have said before when she tried to blame herself for Paige's escape.

"I should say something about how it's not your fault that Paige escaped, but I know you, and I know you won't accept a statement like that. I also know that you aren't going to feel any better about this whole thing until we find him and put him back where he belongs. I just want to tell you that _I_ know it isn't your fault, even if you don't."

She stops on the sidewalk, turning to look at me. I can't tell if she's angry or...no, she's definitely angry. "How could you possibly know how I feel right now?"

I decide to back down. "Sorry. I guess I can't. I just...forget it." Being aggressive right now won't let her know that I care about how she feels, only that I'm trying to control her emotions. That doesn't make it hurt less to give up on getting her back so early in the day.

I go back to being a jerk, since that seemed to work for the first five minutes this morning. I brush past her, unsuccessfully hiding my annoyance with myself as I head toward my black Suburban. I don't think she's following me, so I'm taken aback when I feel someone suddenly grab my arm as I step off the curb. Even though I can't see who it is, I know it's her because the contact sends an irrepressible shiver through my entire body. She must not notice the effect she's having on me; she holds on to my arm as she gently turns me around to face her.

"Andy, I'm sorry. I'm stressed over the case. You're trying to make me feel better and I'm snapping at you. You deserve better."

This time I really believe that she's upset over the case and not at me. She would never apologize if I were the one responsible for her mood. She's staring into my eyes to see if I'll accept her apology. I'd walk through fire to get her to look at me like this, so a simple pardon is nothing. "Olivia, you don't need to apologize. As for what I deserve, well, I think you have a right to be as angry at me as you want to be." I gaze at her with my best puppy-dog eyes.

She smiles. Her hand is still on my arm and I feel as if I'll melt if she doesn't let go soon. Melting sounds like it could be fun. I'm so focused on the warm spot on my forearm where she's touching me that I almost miss her catty response, "I thought I was the one deserving of pity here, Mr. Sensitive."

I take her teasing as a positive sign. I smile back and take a step closer to her. I can tell my extreme proximity is making her nervous, but she doesn't step back. Her hand is still on my arm. I've never wanted to kiss her more than I do right now. I'm about to lean in and do just that when a car horn sounds directly in back of me.

Stabler. He's staring daggers at us. Well, at me anyway. Healey is sitting in the passenger seat, waving. She _would_ think that Stabler was just saying goodbye. We wave back as they drive away.

The moment is gone and she's blushing, embarrassed that she let me get so close. A second ago she wasn't pulling away; she might actually have been willing to kiss me, or, at the very least, willing to let me kiss her. It was almost as if she'd momentarily forgotten that we don't do things like that anymore, that we haven't for years. Hell, we hadn't even spoken after we broke up until a few months ago. Now she's distant again, Stabler's presence influencing her to push back from me. I hate him. He gets to spend every single day with her but he's begrudging me even ten minutes. She turns back to me and even through the intensity of my hatred for him, I'm again struck by how beautiful she is. I'd stare at her all day, but she doesn't give me the opportunity.

"We should get going."

I open the door for her to get into the truck, "After you." Her dark eyes sparkle as she gets in, giving me a small smile to let me know that she's over her moment of discomfort after our near-kiss. I'm willing to sacrifice that kiss if I can keep her smiling like this for the rest of the day. Anyway, she probably would have followed up the kiss with a slap across the face or, more likely, a right hook.


	5. Chapter 4

Olivia stared out the car window, watching the buildings pass as Andy drove through the Village. Her head reeled from what had just happened on the sidewalk. Or almost happened. She was fairly sure that he'd tried to kiss her, and only slightly less sure that she had wanted him to do it. And Elliot had seen it. He would want to know what was going on and she was going to have to explain it to him, even though she couldn't quite explain it to herself. She wished she could blame the situation on alcohol, like she done with Cassidy, but she couldn't use that excuse at 9 in the morning.

Andy cleared his throat to get her attention. "So...uh, maybe you could tell me about our guy."

She smiled slightly as she imagined that her silence was intimidating him, but changed her expression as she thought about his question. She looked at him carefully, trying to decide if he really wanted to hear about Paige or was just trying to make conversation. "Didn't you read the report?"

"Yeah, but you and I both know that it's impossible to get everything you know into your report. Just tell me your impressions, your insights, you know, that kind of stuff."

"Paige is just...," Olivia paused as she shivered involuntarily. "He's scary. There's no other way I can say it."

"Olivia, we both deal with hardened criminals and violent psychotics every day. What makes this guy so frightening?"

"I don't know, there's just...something. It's in his eyes. They're totally dead. Elliot and I interrogated him after we arrested him, and he was so detached, like nothing could touch him. The only thing that affected him were the crime scene photos we showed him. He got all content and reflective. It was like he was looking at some sick family album or something. I think I had nightmares for a month." She stopped, realizing she'd said too much. A certain amount of fear was healthy when dealing with a serial killer, but she didn't want Andy to know that Paige frightened her enough to disturb her sleep cycle. She continued, hoping he had missed her last comment, "He's also calculating. And he's smart. When he found out that we were onto him, he started sending us notes with riddles telling us where to find his last third and fourth bodies. He was playing with us, daring us to come and find him. He was constantly two steps ahead of us. We may never have caught him without Marcia Baron's information."

"Yeah, I read _that_ in the report. She actually _saw_ Paige murder the fifth vic?"

Olivia nodded, reciting the details by heart, "April 18, 2001, Erin MacCallan, sophomore at NYU, is kidnapped by Paige. On the 21st around 3AM, he brings her back to campus, still alive, and kills her right outside the Student Activities Center on Greene. Marcia was walking up the street and saw him slit MacCallan's throat."

"And she picked him out of a lineup?"

"No. She told us exactly who he was. That's how we caught him. He was working as a janitor at NYU and she recognized him as the guy who emptied the wastebasket in her office every day."

"Wow. What are the odds?"

"Yeah." She sighed, looking down. She was still disappointed that nothing SVU had done had turned up a lead solid enough to direct them to Paige. They'd gotten plenty of DNA from the victim's bodies, but DNA was only useful after the perp was in custody if he wasn't already in the system. It had taken a luckily placed eyewitness to break the case, an eyewitness who could now be in serious danger because they had convinced her to testify at Paige's trial. She was pulled from her thoughts as Andy covered her hand with his own while they paused at a stoplight. She drew more comfort from the gesture than she felt she should have. He was being so caring, so protective. She sighed again when the light turned green and he moved his hand back to the wheel.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just kicking myself once again that we didn't let the DNA do the talking at trial. He didn't have to know that Marcia was the one who fingered him."

"Oh, well, you should have thought of that when you were writing your opening arguments and prepping your witnesses."

"Hey, I didn't..." She stopped as she saw his grin and realized he was joking. "Okay, I get it. Not everything is my fault. Stop blaming myself. Yadda yadda yadda..."

He continued smiling and she was finally forced smile back. "Feel better? Really?"

She was surprised to find that she actually did. "Okay, you win this round, Eckerson."

They rode in companionable silence for another block, getting stuck at yet another red light. He was again the one to begin speaking.

"So is there anything I should know about handling this Marcia Baron?"

"Handling her?" Olivia couldn't believe what he was asking. She mentally slapped herself for her thought a moment ago that he'd become more sensitive and compassionate. "She's not a suspect we're interrogating, she's a woman who could be in serious danger."

He seemed to get a little flustered. "I'm sorry, I'm not really asking this the right way. I just want to know if she has any quirks or stuff like that I might need to know about, things I might blurt out about Paige that would upset her more than others."

She looked over at him intently, her stare lasting so long that he started to twitch uncomfortably, revving the engine to distract her. She continued scrutinizing him until he broke the silence, "What?"

"Nothing. You just...you've been surprising me all day. You seem...I don't know, different somehow." She finally looked away as he smiled at her, causing the color to rise in her cheeks.

"So if there were anything I needed to know, you'd tell me."

"Why wouldn't I?" Her tone was harsher than she'd intended it to be. She was getting very frustrated over her inability to stop blushing around him.

"Forget it. It's just nice to know I can count on you."

He sounded more sincere than sarcastic, but, regardless, she couldn't let such an open ended statement go. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's nothing, just..." He paused and she looked at him expectantly, willing him to continue. He didn't seem to need much encouragement. "Healey and I were setting this guy up in Witness Protection about two months ago. I'd never met him, he seemed perfectly nice, then he starts swearing at me and his arm comes flying at me like he's taking a wild swing. I take him down with no problem, spraining his wrist in the process and Healey starts yelling at me like I've done something wrong. Turns out the guy has Tourette's. She knew and didn't bother to tell me, so I ended up hurting a guy for no reason. I mean, the poor guy had been through enough and I was supposed to be protecting him. I don't want to get caught in a situation like that again."

The story seemed too outrageous to be a falsehood. He would never tell a lie that harmed his pride so deeply. And what would he gain from lying to her anyway? She speculated briefly about whether he would have felt bad about such a situation if it hadn't occurred right after the Baxter case. Timing and cause weren't huge concerns for her at that moment, however. Even if he really did seem like he had changed, she didn't want to make it obvious that she found his newfound sensitivity extremely attractive. _Not the time or place._ _We're trying to catch a serial killer for God sakes!_, she thought. She spoke instead to the second element of his account that had touched a nerve, "That must be tough. Not being able to trust your partner, I mean."

"Yeah. She's good at her job, she's just kind of, well...," he trailed off, then abruptly changed the subject. "You're really lucky to have someone like Stabler covering your back."

"Yeah, I am," she answered honestly. She thought again about the lecture that she was sure to get from Elliot about being careful of Andy. The conversation lagged as she wondered why he'd rather talk about her partner than his own. She brought it back around to where it had started. "If there's anything you really need to know about Marcia, it's that she's a little jumpy, at least she has been every time I've talked to her, even after Paige was put away. I don't know if she's naturally anxious or if witnessing a murder had that effect on her. I don't think anything you say will really upset her more than she already will be over the escape. Oh, it's right up here on the left."

They double-parked outside Marcia Baron's apartment on Grove St. in the West Village and walked up to the front door. Olivia hit the buzzer. She was greeted by a shy, nervous voice, "Who's there?"

"Marcia, it's Olivia Benson. We're just here to check in with you."

The door buzzed to admit them.

On the stairs, Olivia spoke over her shoulder, "Andy, just try not to scare her too much. She doesn't need to know that we think Paige is coming after her."

"No problem."

They arrived at the appropriate door and knocked. The door opened a crack, catching on the chain as the apartment's tenant peeked warily into the hallway.

"Marcia?" Olivia made sure that both her face and badge were visible.

The door closed and almost immediately opened wide. Olivia had to take a step backwards as small, mousy woman crashed into her, hugging her tightly. "Thank God you're here."

Olivia returned the hug for a moment before gently disentangling Marcia's arms from her coat and scarf. "So you've heard."

"Yeah, I saw the news this morning. I called your precinct and Captain Cragen told me that you were on your way over here."

"Well, we didn't want you to think we'd forgotten you." Olivia smiled warmly, hoping to give Marcia the assurance that they had come to make sure she was safe.

"Where's Elliot?," she asked, eyeing Andy suspiciously.

"He's checking with some other people we thought would be concerned about Paige's escape." She hoped she'd worded her answer delicately enough, and moved on quickly to prevent Marcia from grasping her real meaning. "This is Andy Eckerson, he's with the US Marshals "

"Oh, okay then. Nice to meet you. Please, come in. You can stay for a while, can't you?" The request sounded more like a plea than an invitation, and Olivia was perfectly willing to oblige.

"Of course we can." She stepped through the door into the wake of a hurricane.

Andy leaned close and whispered into her ear, "Maybe we should have called ahead."

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, but had to agree whole-heartedly with his assessment. The apartment was in complete disarray, with boxes and suitcases in various states of readiness. Marcia indicated a sofa partially covered by clothing for Olivia and Andy to sit on and disappeared into the kitchen. She seemed far more relaxed with the door closed and double bolted. They heard her calling back, "I'm sorry the place is such a mess. I decided to leave town when I saw the news about Terry Paige on TV, but then I realized that I don't have anyone to stay with. That's when I called Captain Cragen. He must have thought I was a crazy person! But then he told me that you were coming, Olivia, and I felt so much better that I started unpacking. And here you two are, not fifteen minutes after I called! Can I get you some coffee?"

Olivia was both touched and saddened by Marcia's admission that she, Olivia, could inspire enough confidence to make Marcia want to stay in the city. She didn't betray any of this emotion, however, when she answered, "Sure, that sounds fine. Andy?" She looked at him expectantly.

He got the hint. "Coffee would be great."

Marcia returned a few moments later with three steaming cups. Olivia's first instinct was to make small talk, but Andy began speaking as soon as Marcia had settled herself into a book-covered chair.

"Ms. Baron, we're actually here to offer you a protective detail, strictly as a precautionary measure, until Paige is caught." Olivia had to admit that she was impressed by his tact if not his stark directness. Even after his earlier display of sensitivity, she had half-expected him to walk in and inform Marcia that she would be receiving a detail. The painful memory of Elliot's betrayal in a similar situation unexpectedly assailed her. She pushed away the recollection and refocused on the present.

Marcia seemed put off by Andy, asking, "What exactly does that mean?," while shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

He explained, "Well, it means that two policemen will be keeping an eye on you, just in case Paige decides to try something stupid."

Marcia looked at him critically. "He won't do anything stupid. I always thought he was too smart to be a janitor. I wish I'd been wrong." She paused, fiddling with a stack of magazines in front of her on the coffee table. "Will the officers will be here all the time?"

"They'll be working eight-hour shifts, so two police officers or US Marshals will be watching you or your apartment 24-7. I can make a call right now and have the officers here immediately if you'd like."

"I don't know...it sounds kind of like being under house arrest. Olivia, what do you think?" Andy's continued straightforwardness seemed to intensify Marcia's anxiety, as evidenced by her inability to sit still.

Olivia did her best to downplay the tension. "I think that this is the best thing we can do for you until Paige is safely behind bars again, both for your peace of mind and ours. And the officers will be there to watch out for you, not to interrupt your life in any way."

Marcia seemed reassured, though she continued wringing her hands. "Well, I guess it's okay then."

Andy stood, saying, "I can set that up right now, if I can just use your phone."

"It's in the kitchen."

While Andy arranged the detail, Olivia took the opportunity to catch up with the woman who'd really brought down Terry Paige. "So, not counting the past few hours, how've you been doing?"

"Oh, very well. I'm working as a librarian at NYU while I finish up my doctorate in American Literature. I like it a lot. I get to interact with the students, but it's still quiet and...what did your Marshal mean when he said that this protective detail was just a precaution? Do you really think that Paige is coming after me?"

Olivia grasped the nervous woman's hand. "Like you said, Paige isn't stupid. He's going to try and hide from us, not attract attention to himself. In all honesty, the detail is to protect you from the media. They're going to be calling and following you, and the officers can help keep them from bothering you too much." She had never lied more guiltily or more convincingly in her entire life.

She was almost sick when Marcia earnestly replied, "Thank you so much for everything you're doing. You've done so much for me already, and now I feel like I'm wasting your time with my silly fears and..."

"Marcia, it's okay to be afraid. You've already been braver than any of us had a right to ask you to be. Not many people could have faced Terry Paige in court, but you did. The least we can do is keep you safe until this is over."

"Still, thank you. I'm just so happy that someone cares so much."

Olivia felt as if she were on the verge of tears when Andy thankfully interrupted them. "Sorry to butt in, but two officers should be here in five or ten minutes. I told them we'd stay until they arrived." He sat back down next to Olivia to finish his coffee and rejoin the conversation, but they didn't get the opportunity. Olivia's phone rang almost immediately.

"Excuse me." She answered without getting up, "Benson."

"Olivia, you and Eckerson need to come back here ASAP." Cragen's curtness alerted her that something had happened.

"No problem, Cap. We'll leave as soon as the detail arrives."

"Good. I'll explain everything once you get here. Oh, and let Elliot know that I want everyone back here."

"Okay. See you in a few Cap." She put her phone away, trying to avoid Marcia's eyes. "I'm sorry, Marcia, but we have to get back to the station. The detail should be here soon, so we'll meet them outside. I wish we could stay longer, but..." She trailed off, unable to say anything more comforting.

"I understand. I know you have to go catch Paige." Marcia saw them to the door, hugging both and saying again, "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Olivia's stomach was unsettled as she descended the stairs. Marcia deserved more than a ten-minute visit when her life was in such serious danger. She had almost forgotten that Andy was with her until they stepped out into the cold sunlight and she noticed him smiling at her. "What?"

"You. You were really good up there."

"Um...thanks?" She wasn't quite sure how to take the compliment.

"I mean it, Olivia. I don't know how you manage to care so much. And Marcia, she really trusts you."

She looked into his eyes, hoping he could see how awful she felt about breaking that trust. "I lied to her. I told her we didn't think Paige would come after her." Breaking the gaze, she looked down, concentrating on a crack in the sidewalk.

She saw his feet step closer. He ran his forefinger along her jaw-line, stopping under her chin and exerting gentle pressure that caused her to raise her head. His eyes were so warm, caring. "Knowing won't help her." Olivia wanted to step into his arms and let him hold her until Paige had been caught and her guilt alleviated, but the short burst of a siren prevented anything further from happening. "I think our detail has arrived. We should check in with them so they know the situation and head back."

"Yeah, why don't you take care of that? I need to call Elliot." She thought his face fell slightly at the mention of her partner, but she forgot it as she dialed.

His greeting was gruff. "Stabler."

"Well, I was gonna tell you it was nice to hear your voice, but you can forget that now."

"Olivia," he greeted, drastically changing his tone. "What's up?"

"Cap'n wants us back at the station. He wouldn't say why, but he said to hurry. Andy and I leaving Marcia Baron's apartment since the uniforms are here and..."

Andy tapped her arm on his way to the car, saying, "The detail is all set. We should head back to your precinct."

Before she could say anything more to Elliot, he replied with a voice that was again irritated, "Liv, we're just leaving the courthouse, so we'll see you in a few." He hung up, leaving her to say good-bye to the dial tone.

She clipped her phone back to her belt and stood staring at the sidewalk for a moment, wondering what could be wrong with Elliot. He must still have been upset about that little scene between Andy and herself outside the precinct; maybe hearing Andy had reminded him. She blushed guiltily at the memory, more ashamed that she'd let her guard down around Andy than being caught by her partner. Her blush deepened as she realized that she again regretted that the moment they'd shared hadn't led to anything more.

"Something wrong?" He came up beside her unexpectedly, not giving her a chance to hide the redness in her cheeks. She was certain she'd blushed more in the past few hours than she had in the entire previous year.

She tried to play it off. "No, Elliot just seemed a little upset on the phone." She looked into his eyes and prayed he couldn't tell what she was really thinking. "It's nothing, I'm sure."

Andy seemed to sense her worry and immediately allayed it, pawning off the blame for Elliot's mood on his own partner. "Hey, an hour with Healey will fray anyone's nerves. She takes a lot of getting used to."

"Oh?" Olivia forgot Elliot and was suddenly very curious to find out exactly what he meant by 'getting used to.' She was shocked to find that she was actually jealous of Healey. "So you two are pretty close then?"

"Hardly. She's good at her job and I respect her professionally, but she's got a personality like a bed of rusty nails, even when you get to know her. Once you get past a certain point, she starts to include you in her little circle of superiority and she's a _little_ less abrasive. That's how it was with me anyway. Not that she doesn't have some other interpersonal issues to work on, like people skills and tact and...eh, I don't think anything you do or say could make her like you until she damn ready to, if ever."

"So I guess Elliot is having a fun day then."

Andy gave her a dazzling smile. She was pleased that he seemed so happy to be with her rather than Healey. "I really owe your Captain for the break from her. Now get in the car Olivia. You look freezing. Your face is all red from being out in this wind." She tried her hardest to prevent even more blood from rushing to her cheeks as she got into the truck where no wind would provide an excuse for her color.


	6. Chapter 5

Healey had not stopped talking since getting into Elliot's blue police sedan.

"Well, it's no Suburban, but I suppose SUVs are more expensive, so I wouldn't expect the NYPD to hand them out or anything. I still can't believe your Captain split Andy and I up just because he's worried about you and your partner, like you couldn't keep yourselves safe without our help or something like that, although, from that point of view, I guess it means he has a healthy respect for the skills of the US Marshals, but you'd think he'd want to..."

Elliot was ready to explode with frustration. He shook his head to try to remember the way to the courthouse, which seemed to be eluding him, despite the countless number of times he'd traveled the same route to the same building. As he took a wrong turn, his mind thoroughly clouded with the last image he'd glimpsed of Olivia, standing on the sidewalk with Eckerson, looking as if she were ready to kiss him. Elliot shook his head again, disgusted. Five minutes alone together and she was practically making out with that damn Marshal. Well, not quite making out, but certainly too close for her partner's comfort. Elliot was ready to slug his least favorite federal officer, though Healey was currently challenging Eckerson for that title with her incessant meaningless chatter.

"...but from what I've heard about this Judge Petrovsky she's not going to back down and just accept a protective escort because the cops recommend it, although coming from the Marshals she might change her tune a little I would think. You people haven't developed the best relationship with her, have you, but I guess that's partially your ADA's fault because you aren't in court enough to really piss off a judge, but I'm sure you could find a way to if you let..."

Elliot tuned her out as well as he was able, imagining that she was an air conditioner or garbage disposal or some other large, noisy appliance that one simply had to learn to ignore. He found it surprisingly easy to get lost again in his own reflections. He would never have thought that the escape of a serial rapist and killer would rank second on the list of bad things to happen in a day, but the arrival of the Marshals had certainly passed it, and by a fairly wide margin. Not only had they come in and tried to take over, but they had caused Cragen to separate him from his partner when she needed him most. She was upset over Paige's escape, blaming herself for the situation, and now partnered with a jerk who'd gotten her kidnapped the last time they'd worked together. Elliot knew he would have had misgivings about seeing her leave even with Munch or Fin on a day like this, but Eckerson was another matter entirely.

"...of course we wouldn't have to deal with Petrovsky at all if the Marshals were in charge of this case, like we _should_ be, since escaped convicts fall squarely into our jurisdiction. We would just put the full protective detail on her and not think twice about whether or not she cared, but since you people have to maintain a good relationship with her I suppose this is a necessary roadblock in the investigation, not that I think we're _wasting time_ or anything..."

Elliot's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, thinking about what the two of them were doing as he was stuck driving to the courthouse with the human equivalent of a howler monkey. Allowing herself to get so close to Eckerson seemed like the first mistake Olivia would be making as a result of her anxious state. Elliot certainly wouldn't put it past Eckerson to take advantage of her. The idiot was already looking like he'd be all over her the first chance he got. For the umpteenth time since leaving the precinct, he ardently wished Cragen would reconsider his decision and change things back to their proper order. _It's Benson and Stabler, not Benson and Eckerson or Healey and Stabler_, he told himself over and over.

He was finally called out of his reverie by Healey's excited shout, "Hey, there's a parking spot, and right out front too, so I guess that's a sign that we're gonna have good luck today." Elliot hadn't even realized that they were at the courthouse. His momentary disorientation prevented him from making a biting comment on Healey's definition of 'good luck.'

As they walked through the front doors, Healey commented, "It's not as nice as the federal courthouse, but it's not as bad as some of the local dumps I've seen, like that little hole in the wall where justice's hallowed halls were graced by pinup calendars in..."

"Do you ever say anything positive that doesn't include the words 'federal' or 'Marshals'?," Elliot interrupted, stepping into the elevator and hoping he had cut off another long-winded rant.

She followed him in and answered in a tone one would use to explain the ways of the world to a two-year-old, "I'm just commenting on the fact that some agencies are better equipped to deal with certain situations than others."

He avoided snapping at her bait by maintaining silence in the elevator. He was getting really sick of Healey after spending a little over an hour in her company. Even while ignoring her, Elliot had heard scraps of her tirades of obvious condescension for local law-enforcement, including the NYPD. She seemed to think the Marshals walked on water while everyone else was left treading in their wake.

When the doors finally opened, Elliot stepped out and immediately spotted ADA Casey Novak pacing in front of Petrovsky's chambers. He felt oddly thankful he'd have someone less annoying to speak with. "Morning, Counselor."

"Good Morning, Detective. You're late. I've arranged a meeting with Judge Petrovsky, but she's not happy that we're pulling her out of court."

"She's never happy," Elliot quipped before Healey cleared her throat to demand an introduction. He grudgingly obliged, "Oh, Casey, this is US Marshal Healey, my temporary partner for this case. Healey, this is Assistant District Attorney Casey Novak." The two shook hands before Novak quickly turned back to Elliot.

"Where's Olivia?"

Healey answered before Elliot could, "Det. Benson is working with _my_ partner, Marshal Eckerson, in order to, ah, I think Captain Cragen outlined it as 'separating the targets.'"

Novak seemed a bit taken aback, so Elliot tried to refocus the conversation. "Is she ready for us?," he asked, gesturing toward Petrovsky's office.

"Yeah, we should probably get in there before Petrovsky becomes more dangerous than Paige," she replied knocking on the door.

The judge did not disappoint, forgoing the normal 'hello' for, "You people had better have a good reason for pulling me off the bench this morning."

"Yes Judge Petrovsky, we realize that it's an inconvenience for you, but I assure you it was done with your safety in mind."

"I suggest you stop trying to butter me up and get to the point, Ms. Novak."

Elliot stepped in, almost regretting that they were even offering to protect Petrovsky and her charming attitude, "Judge, I'm sure you're aware that Terry Paige escaped from Sing-Sing early this morning. We have reason to believe that he will be coming to the city and attempting to take revenge on the people who put him there, including yourself."

"Convicts wanting revenge are nothing new, Detective, but I assume your purpose here is not simply to inform."

"We'd like to assign you a protective detail in case Paige decides to come after you." Seeing Petrovsky grimace at the thought of being followed, Elliot decided to be diplomatic, remembering the reaction he'd gotten from Olivia when he'd put a watch on her without telling her first. "We feel that it would be the safest course of action, considering the circumstances. We just came to obtain your permission to do so."

"Judge, you should also know that whether or not we get your approval, we will be assigning two US Marshals to observe you," Healey stated before Elliot had a chance to stop her.

Any inclination Petrovsky might have had to play ball flew directly out the window. "Don't think you can come into my chambers and order me around, Marshal...what was your name?" She promptly continued without giving Healey a chance to reply, "Whatever. Your men can sit in the courtroom and follow me around all they want, but they will not be allowed into my chambers or my home and they will not disrupt my life in any way. Am I making myself clear?"

"Judge, please reconsider..."

Healey was cut off as Petrovsky swept from the room saying, "We're finished here."

"Well, there's nothing more we can accomplish here. I'm going down to the car," Healey declared with far more conviction than necessary. Being put in her place apparently made her want to assert her assumed superiority more zealously. She left the room with even more of a flourish than Judge Petrovsky had.

Elliot glanced at Novak as they exited the office, and she gave him a weak smile, "I guess I can really look forward to my next case in Petrovsky's courtroom."

"It's not your fault Casey," he replied. "Healey seems to have that effect on everyone. I know I'm ready to gag her. And that's putting things mildly."

"Right. Who wouldn't want to work with a charmer like that?"

Both laughed for a moment before Elliot sighed disconsolately at the thought of rejoining Healey in the car. "I guess I should get going before she releases the hounds or something."

"Keep me updated and let me know if you need anything for this case. I think Judge Seligman might not hate me yet, so warrants are definitely doable."

"Thanks Casey." She waved at him over her shoulder as she walked away down the hall.

For once in his life, Elliot did not get annoyed by the long wait for the elevator. He walked very slowly on his way out to the car.

Healey was on her cell phone standing next to the door when he arrived. Her tapping foot on the frozen sidewalk indicated her displeasure at being forced to wait in the cold. She snapped her phone shut when she saw him approaching. "About time you got back down here, Stabler, though I guess I owe you an apology for ripping you away from Novak, whose company you were enjoying so much."

Elliot returned her sarcasm, "Well, some of us still need the assistance of the court to obtain warrants, which, as you may recall, make some of the things we do legal. By the way, nice job up there, alienating a judge."

"Whatever, Stabler, she wasn't about to go along with your nicey-niceness anyway, so I just cleared the air and made it easier for us to get on with the investigation. Now we need to go talk to the lawyer, so get in the car."

"Munch and Fin are taking care of Langon. _We_ should call Cragen and find out what he wants us to do next, seeing as our meeting with Judge Petrovsky was slightly shorter than expected."

Her reply seemed canned. "First of all, I do my own interviews because I prefer not to leave it up to other agencies to do my work, since it reflects poorly on the US Marshals if we accept something that's been done sloppily."

"Are you saying we not capable of doing our jobs here?" he interrupted incredulously, hoping he had misunderstood her. She continued as if he had never spoken.

"Secondly, I don't need the NYPD telling me how I should do my job and since I'm being honest, let's just get it out in the open that you don't like me because I'm a US Marshal, but still, we should be civil because we have to work together since _my _partner is stuck baby-sitting _your _partner until this case is over."

Elliot puffed up with rage. He was willing to ignore her barbs about the police, but insulting his partner was taking it way over the line. "Olivia doesn't need anyone to take care of her, especially not Eckerson."

"Oh, please, if you think for one second that he's enjoying the responsibility of watching out for her..."

He wasn't able to voice his thought that Eckerson was probably enjoying watching Olivia more than Healey could possibly fathom when the conversation was ended by a high-pitched ringing. "Stabler," he answered, without checking the caller ID on his phone and with far more vehemence than he intended.

"Well, I was gonna tell you it was nice to hear your voice, but you can forget that now."

"Olivia," Elliot sighed almost contentedly, happier than he'd ever been to hear his partner greet him. At least Eckerson hadn't gotten her killed in the past few hours. "What's up?"

"Cap'n wants us back at the station. He wouldn't say why, but he said to hurry. Andy and I are staying at Marcia Baron's apartment since the uniforms are here and..."

Elliot bristled as he faintly heard Eckerson interrupt Olivia, "The detail is all set. We should head back to your precinct."

Elliot didn't wait for her to relay the message. "Liv, we're just leaving the courthouse, so we'll see you in a few." He snapped his phone shut without saying good-bye.

Healey looked at him expectantly, "Well?"

He was tempted to tell her that Paige had been caught by a couple of patrolmen and her presence was no longer necessary, but instead said, "We have to go back to the station." He opened his car door, hoping the ride back would be quieter than the ride to the courthouse.

Healey stared at him over the roof of the car. "You go back. I really need talk to the lawyer and eyewitness myself. I'll take a cab back to the precinct, Stabler." She spun on her heel and walked away quickly.

Elliot felt no compunction about not following her and, after settling himself behind the wheel, pulled into traffic. He smiled as he reflected on her parting comment, deciding that they might have something in common. If she were going to talk with Marcia Baron, she must not think much of Eckerson's competence as a Marshal either.


	7. Chapter 6

Captain Donald Cragen drummed the fingers of his right hand on the display board in his squad room, impatiently awaiting the return of his detectives. In his left hand, he clutched a piece of paper he was intending to share as soon everyone had arrived. He was clutching the copy of the paper, more exactly; the original had already been sent to the crime lab for analysis. He could predict what the results would be. Positive for Paige's fingerprints.

He glanced over the pictures of Paige's six victims, including Emma Anderson, for whose murder he had been due to stand trial. All the photos displayed the smiling faces of beautiful young women that SVU hadn't been able to save. No comfort to be found in those smiles. His gaze traveled to the next row of photos – Marcia Baron, Trevor Langon, Judge Petrovsky – and he was struck by the contrast. Two plain, older women and a man. Cragen secretly hoped that Paige would strike at one of them; they were under surveillance, protected. The other alternative was unpleasant to consider. There was no way he could assign a protective detail to every attractive college girl in the city.

As his attention was drawn to the empty space where two other photos should have been posted, the ones he had refused to put up on the board, Cragen was reminded of the third, even more terrible alternative. The manila folder on the case had been emptied of its contents and was now lying in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet he rarely opened, but it still contained two white-bordered, black-labeled photos bearing the names "Olivia Benson" and "Elliot Stabler." These were the two potential victims about whom he was most concerned. He would have locked them both in his office and stood guard at the door until Paige was recaptured if it were at all feasible. He turned from the board, pacing past their desks and wondering why they were taking so long to return.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Olivia finally walked into the squad room, chatting amicably with Eckerson. Cragen was glad to see them getting along so well. He'd been extremely wary of partnering them again, especially after the way things had gone down during the Baxter case, but he'd had no other option. He couldn't keep Elliot and Olivia together, and he couldn't partner Olivia with Healey. SVU regulations, in chivalry's last dying gasp, prohibited partnering two women for reasons related to their safety. Despite his support for equal rights, Cragen didn't oppose the somewhat archaic rule; he simply didn't like the thought of the sex offenders they saw every day having any contact with women. He cringed behind the one-way mirror every time a perp or a suspect being interrogated looked at Olivia or Casey as if she were his last meal. Such was the nature of working in sex crimes, but he didn't have to like it.

He pushed his thoughts away as he remembered why he was glad to see Olivia back and asked, "How'd it go with Marcia Baron?"

Eckerson answered, "She was a little wary of the escort at first, but Olivia managed to convince her that it was a good idea. I think she felt better about the whole situation when we left." He sounded like he was trying to reassure Olivia rather than convey useful information.

She had sat down on her desk and was now staring at the photos on the board as Cragen had been doing a few minutes before.

"Olivia, you okay?"

"Yeah, Cap." Her voice was heavy, sad. "I just wish there was something more we could do for Marcia. She didn't even have anyone she could go stay with. I was almost ready to tell her she could have my couch until this was over."

Cragen was touched by his detective's compassion, but the conversation didn't go any further due to the simultaneous arrival of Munch, Fin and Elliot. Eckerson asked the most obvious question before Cragen had the chance, "Where's Healey?"

Elliot didn't mince words. "She ditched me at the courthouse. Decided that she needed to check in with all our potential vics personally. Real piece of work, that one. Thanks for bringing her along, Eckerson."

The Marshal didn't even react to Elliot's slight, but immediately crossed the room while cursing and dialing someone on his phone.

Cragen called Elliot's attention back to the case. "Did Petrovsky give you any trouble?"

"She wouldn't have if Healey had kept her big mouth shut. Cap, that lady's got the people skills of a rabid raccoon. Pissed off Petrovsky almost as much as she pissed me off. I say we let her roam the streets and let animal control pick her up."

Cragen allowed Elliot to berate Healey mainly because he regretted having to separate him from Olivia, which he suspected was the real reason for Elliot's foul mood. "Fine Elliot, you can hate Healey all you want, but your still stuck with her 'til this is over. Munch, Fin how'd it go with Langon?"

Fin's assessment was candid. "Little worm's scared shitless. Practically begged us to protect his sorry ass. He's probably cowerin' under his desk right now."

Munch gave his partner a critical glance before filling in more details. "Trevor Langon graciously accepted a police escort for the duration of the investigation and gave us the assurance that he would let us know immediately if Paige tried to contact him. He seems to be under the impression that Paige will, ah, I believe he mentioned decapitation, and that was the friendliest part of the threat. If we need to reach him, he'll be at a suite at The Plaza that his firm thought he should move into, for security reasons, of course."

"All right, so all our potentials are set up with protective details. Now I'm sure you're all wondering why..."

Cragen fell silent as, across the room, Eckerson's phone conversation had devolved into a shouting match. "I don't care what you thought was necessary, just get back here Healey or I'm calling Perry and you won't be chasing the bad guys for a long fucking time!" He snapped his phone shut and stormed back over to the group. After regaining his composure, he seemed to notice that all eyes were on him. "She's on her way back here right now. I've found that threatening her with a call to the boss usually gets her back on track." He sat down next to Olivia on the edge of her desk.

Cragen resumed, "I'm sure you're all wondering why I called you back. Well, fortunately or otherwise, we have a lead." He waved the paper in front of them, watching five curious pairs of eyes follow the movement. "This was delivered by a courier while you were out." He was met by silence as he tacked the note to the board. It was written in a too-familiar, spidery hand.

_Hello Stars –_

_I hope you aren't watering heaven just yet. My Promethian efforts of creative destruction have left me smiling at my work. A Tyger and his symmetrical kin will show you._

_Patience and Fortitude,_

_T._

After allowing his squad a moment to read the text, he asked, "Well, I think it's pretty obvious that it's from Paige. Any ideas people?"

"The bastard's already killed someone."

"We don't know that yet, Olivia." Cragen tried to stay positive for his guilt-ridden detective, but had already come to the same conclusion himself. Everyone in the room knew exactly what Paige was capable of doing.

"He says he's smiling at his destruction." She stood, pointing at the words for emphasis. "You think he just shredded his old tax returns? He sliced up some poor girl's face!" She perched angrily on the edge of her desk next to Eckerson, who, in a gesture that seemed out of place, gently squeezed her shoulder.

Elliot offered, "Tigers? The zoo, maybe?"

From his seat at his desk, Munch cleared his throat. He waited until all eyes were on him before he began speaking. "At the risk of revealing the rotting corpse that is my social life, Paige has left whatever it is he wants us to find at the New York Public Library, main branch on 42nd and 5th. "

Cragen held his enthusiasm back, "How are you getting 'library' from this note?"

"Look at the spelling – it's T-Y-ger, not T-I-ger."

"And this tells you...what, exactly?" Eckerson questioned. "Paige didn't run his note by an editor before sending it?" Cragen had to agree with the Marshal. He didn't see where Munch was going with his explanation either.

Olivia seemed to be catching on, however. She turned to Eckerson and clarified Munch's point. "Paige is very detail oriented. How many detail-obsessed people do you know that would make a simple mistake like that?"

"So the spelling is intentional." Cragen turned back to Munch, who was smiling in a self-satisfied way. "And why is that saying 'library,' John?"

"All roads lead to the library. I was there a few nights ago and I just so happened to wander into one of the special exhibit rooms. Guess what's on loan from the William Blake Trust?"

Silence reigned as everyone thought for a moment. Olivia suddenly burst forth excitedly, "Tyger, tyger burning bright in the forests of the night!"

"Bingo. Find the poem, solve the clue."

"Little problem John. I'm sure you could find it in any library in the city. Why does it have to be this one, specifically?"

"Elliot, much like analyzing a poem, you have to look at the whole rather than focusing only on the details." Munch sighed with practiced tolerance. "Olivia, if you would kindly continue with the next lines of the poem."

"Uh...I got lucky with the first two, John. Maybe you should enlighten us."

"Ah, what are they teaching you girls in finishing school these days? The line is 'What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful _symmetry._'" He sat back in his chair, looking pleased with himself.

Fin didn't let him enjoy the moment. "Don't look so smug. You just Googled the text. You're readin' it off the screen. So you want us to notice that crap about 'symmetrical kin' then?"

"He's taking 'symmetry' from the poem, but who are the Tyger's 'symmetrical kin'?" Munch was speaking in a tone that Cragen would have expected from a college professor.

Eckerson spoke for the first time since joining the meeting, "The lions on the steps!"

Munch was on a roll and refused to be stopped. "And not to put too fine a point on it, but does anyone know the _names_ of our two marble friends?"

"Would they be Patience and Fortitude?" Cragen knew that his pride in his squad was coming through in his tone, but didn't try to hide it.

"As named by Fiorello LaGuardia."

Cragen could see that Munch was now showing off rather than deciphering and decided to end the game, despite the fact that it would mean sending his detectives into the line of fire again. "So, is there some reason you're all still standing around instead of on your way to the library?"

As his detectives took his hint and filed out of the squad room, he caught the beginning of an interesting conversation between Munch and Fin.

"How d'you know so much about the library, anyway?"

"I happen to _enjoy_ visiting the library. It's quiet, I get to be alone, and you can take things without paying for them and not face an arrest."

"I'm gonna take you to Knicks game or somethin' when this is over. This library you like so damn much sounds too much like bein' in the hole at Riker's."

Cragen decided he would take his whole squad to a Knicks game after they had caught Paige. In the back of his mind, something told him that he might not get the chance. The premonition was gone as soon as it had come, but it left a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

He walked slowly back into his office, shutting the door harder than was necessary. He sat down to call Healey and notify her that she should head to the library instead of the precinct, but his hand paused in mid-air as he reached for the receiver. He found he couldn't take his attention away from the file cabinet where he had hidden Olivia and Elliot's photos. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out the only thing he knew would get his mind off the danger his detectives were in, placing it on his desk.

The staring contest lasted for twenty minutes. Eventually, the unopened Stolichnaya found its way back to the bottom drawer, but Cragen was terrified by how close he had come to blinking.

A/N: Sorry about the end of the chapter missing. I finished writing and saved to a disk, but I uploaded the version from the hard-drive, so the last bit was AWOL. Thanks to Olivia26 for bringing it to my attention.


	8. Chapter 7

Elliot stood silently at the rear of the elevator, staring at the back of Olivia's head. He'd become used to the view since returning to the precinct. The thought of seeing her had carried him from the courthouse, but he was disappointed that seeing her was the only contact he was getting. She had barely acknowledged him in the squad room, facing the board during the entire meeting, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Eckerson. The damn Marshal had even helped her with her coat as they were leaving; if he, Elliot, ever tried something like that, he highly doubted she would accept the gesture. She'd probably throw in a barb about his good manners too.

Eckerson seemed to occupy a whole different sphere. After all, he'd...Elliot stopped the thought before it went any further. He closed his eyes and mentally rephrased it, organizing it into a logical progression to explain Olivia's action. _Helping a woman with her coat is a boyfriend thing. Eckerson is her ex. She doesn't question him when he does boyfriend things even though they're not together any more. She expects it from him because that's the role she's accustomed to seeing him in. You're her partner. Her friend. You don't do boyfriend things because they would seem weird coming from you. _The relief he felt was instantaneous. He blessed the analytical mind that he normally confined to his police work.

None of this changed the fact that she was now standing next to Eckerson, much closer than necessary in Elliot's opinion. There were only five of them in the elevator, no need for crowding. Oblivious to any impropriety, Munch and Fin continued their conversation about the social value of hanging around the library.

"So, is it, like, all old people and students in there?"

"I'll have you know that people of all ages can find something interesting at the library."

"Shit, John, you should be their PR man."

Olivia turned as the elevator doors creaked open and said softly, "They're gonna _need _a good spin doctor if Paige is dropping corpses on their front steps."

All of Elliot's bitterness over being ignored faded instantly when he saw her face. He'd known her long enough to realize it was never a good sign when she lost control of her eyes, allowing them to reflect what she felt rather than what she wanted other people to see. One glance told him that she was sick over the prospect of finding a new victim of Paige's, wracked by the guilt that was telling her it was her fault. Elliot wanted to reach out for her, even if just to squeeze her hand or touch her shoulder in a gesture of support, but she was already walking toward the exit with Eckerson, his hand grazing her back as he opened the door and stood aside to let her pass.

A feeling akin to jealousy welled up inside him as Elliot brushed past Munch and Fin on his way out the door, suddenly needing very much to speak with his partner. She was halfway to Eckerson's car when he overtook her, gently grasping her elbow. He was surprised to find that she'd been expecting such an action when she didn't even flinch at the unexpected contact. "Liv, we need to talk for a minute."

"So get in the car. We'll talk on the way." She sounded dismissive, uninterested. Her eyes said she was avoiding the conversation, avoiding him. She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about.

He stepped closer and lowered his voice anyway, "Alone."

"Fine, I'll ride with you." She turned to Eckerson, who looked as if he wanted to stop her. "It's less than ten minutes to the library, Andy. No one's gonna try and kill us between here and there." She was using an entirely different tone with the Marshal, appeasing him, asking him not to worry.

"I'll follow you then." Elliot watched Eckerson climb into his Suburban, and found that he had never been more relieved to see anyone get into his own car. He turned to his police sedan. She was already standing at the passenger side door, waiting for him. Fin and Munch, getting into their own car in the adjoining spot, looked curiously at Elliot as he unlocked the car doors.

Munch rested his arms of the open passenger-side door of his sedan, asking, "Not to question your judgment, but didn't someone tell you two not to ride together for the duration of this case?"

"Go read a newspaper on a stick, John." He had a flashback to the previous Saturday when he'd been upset and frustrated over a case that had tanked at trial, and snapped at Kathleen for no real reason. Lizzie had abandoned the television to come over and say to him, "Dad, I think you need a hug." That hug had saved the entire weekend. He wasn't about to try the same strategy on Munch, but he wondered if it would work on Olivia. Too late to try. She was already in the car, staring straight ahead through the water-spotted windshield.

As he got behind the wheel, he heard Fin asking Munch, who had passed over making a sarcastic comeback, yet another library-related question as they climbed into their own sedan. "Do they really do that newspaper on a stick thing? Can't you just spend a coupla quarters and buy your own?"

A minute later, all three cars were moving slowly through noontime traffic. By some unspoken accord, none were employing their sirens. No one wanted to be the first to find out if Terry Paige had committed a seventh murder.

Finally alone with Olivia, Elliot found himself tongue-tied, unable to speak to the person he normally talked with most. He tried to make small talk about the case. "So, what d'you think we're gonna find here? I mean, would Paige have the balls to drag a dead body right in, or are we just gonna find another note?"

"There'll be a body. He always gave us more complex riddles when he was leading us directly to one. But you're not disobeying Cragen's order and demanding to talk to me alone because you want to chat about the case."

In his focus on reading her, he'd forgotten that she could do the exact same thing to him. Instead of launching directly into a sermon about being careful around Eckerson, he tiptoed just to the side of his intended topic with a general statement. "I'm worried about you."

He heard her exhale as if she were relieved he hadn't brought up the issue she was expecting. "We could both be in danger. I'm concerned Paige might come after you too."

He was both touched and frustrated by her sincerity. "That's not what I meant. I mean, I _am_ worried about that, but I'm more worried about you."

"What, is this a contest over which partner can be more anxious over the other's safety?" They both laughed weakly.

He changed his tone to communicate his seriousness. "I know you feel guilty about this whole situation, even though you shouldn't, and I'm afraid you might, well, that you might do something you regret."

"Like what?"

He could tell she wasn't about to give any ground. He was forced to come to the heart of his perturbation. "Like this morning. On the sidewalk outside the precinct. With Eckerson."

She didn't return his gravity, and attempted to continue the familiar partner-banter she'd begun. "Just spit it out El. You don't like Andy and you're worried that I do. You've got partner envy." She laughed again, but he didn't join in. "You never had a problem with him before."

He told a partial truth about his new dislike for the Marshal. "He never got you taken hostage before."

"Elliot..."

He interrupted, "I just want you to be careful."

"Well, don't worry. I can handle myself."

She was defensive, exactly the reaction he had wanted to avoid. She would become entirely unresponsive to his concerns if he didn't break through quickly. He needed to confront her with facts rather than suspicions. "Find out why he's here."

"Elliot, he's a US Marshal. This is what they do, chase escaped cons."

"I mean why he's _here_. He came up from Virginia last time, remember? Paige escaped from Sing-Sing. Marshals from the New York field office should be handling this one." The look on her face told him that she hadn't even wondered about Eckerson's presence. He pushed a little harder. "He's here because you're here."

"What difference does it make if he is? Andy was a huge part of my life for a long time. That doesn't go away just because our relationship exists only on a professional level now."

He found her response odd. He knew she had trouble maintaining romantic relationships, but she was floundering more than he had suspected if she was considering Eckerson such an important milestone. She hadn't seemed emotionally invested in that relationship at all. He wondered what kind of feelings, if any, she had developed for the Marshal during their time together. If he were honest with himself, Elliot had to admit he was glad she had such short relationships. It meant she hadn't found someone to divert her from work. From himself. He wasn't ready to share his best friend with another man, one she would be able to talk to _and_ love. He decided to call her on her statement. "Liv, you dated him casually for six months four or five years ago. You're really gonna define that as 'huge part of your life'?"

"Well, then maybe the three years we were together in our twenties counts for something more."

Elliot nearly rear-ended the car in front of him. "Three years? You dated him for _three years_ before we bumped into him at O'Malley's that night when he asked you out?"

"I hadn't seen him for a while when that happened. And those six months weren't about...why am I even telling you? We're done talking about this." She resolutely turned her face to the window. Elliot was too shocked to question her further. He turned her admission over and over in his mind. Three years? People got married after shorter relationships. Hell, he had married Kathy after two. What if Olivia had gotten pregnant back then? Would Eckerson have done the honorable thing? As thousands of 'what ifs' ran through his head, he contemplated how his life would be different if his partner were Detective Olivia _Eckerson_.

His ruminations made the silence unbearable. Elliot turned back to the only safe topic he could think of. "Where do you think Paige left the body he's sending us to? Could he get it into the actual exhibit where this Blake stuff is?"

"I'd bet he's left us another note somewhere in the exhibit room telling us where to go next. He wouldn't risk being seen carrying it into a public building with the entire city searching for him."

"Some fucking scavenger hunt."

They were back to their normal dynamic by the time they arrived at the library, but Elliot couldn't fight the feeling the something had changed irrevocably. She had been in love with Eckerson, she had to have been. And maybe she still was. The pain of even _potentially_ losing her was like nothing he had ever experienced.

His heart sank further as he stepped out of the car and noticed a welcoming party. Healey stood on the steps, surrounded by several uniformed patrolmen, awaiting the detectives' arrival like a poorly sculpted third lion. "Nice of you to get here, but don't bother going inside because the body is in the dumpster out back."


	9. Chapter 8

Olivia jumped from the police sedan before it had come to a complete stop. She hadn't really wanted to ride with Elliot. The feeling was strange, unexpected. She wasn't in the habit of avoiding her partner and best friend when he wanted to talk. Experience had taught her that allowing him to stew when something was bothering him gradually frayed his nerves until every little thing set him off. She decided she would have preferred the fallout of one of his moods to the conversation that had just occurred during the drive to the library.

She had known he would want to talk about Andy, something she couldn't figure out herself, much less discuss objectively, but she had never expected to tell him the truth about their history. The reason she'd never told Elliot about her past with Andy was simple - some personal issues were better off buried. It had been important for her to tell Elliot about her mother's rape; that had helped him understand her unwavering dedication to the job and her empathy for victims. There were other aspects of her life, however, that she didn't want to discuss with anyone, not even Andy, the man who had gone through them with her. Now it seemed as if she'd been hiding something, some shameful, dirty little secret.

She mentally replayed the scene four years earlier when she had introduced the two detectives at O'Malley's. Andy had come up, bought her a drink, started chatting. It had been over five years since she'd seen him, but the easy familiarity of their conversation had piqued her partner's curiosity. "Elliot, this is Andy Eckerson. We went through the academy together," was all she'd said to explain their acquaintance. There had been no mention of the shared apartment, the diamond engagement ring she'd handed back after six months, the...she stopped the reminiscence, unable to bear the pain and loss associated with her next thought. She would have to tell Elliot about the fact that she'd almost married Andy before she could even think about the other issue. She was suddenly regretful that she hadn't been raised Catholic; practice might have made the prospect of confession easier.

As she considered the situation more fully, she decided that maybe it was her unwillingness to reawaken her hidden pain that had led to the six months of mindless sex that Elliot had, until the past few minutes, defined as her relationship with Andy. She had wanted to be with him again so badly, but made a conscious effort to restrict the liaison: all of the pleasure with none of the passion, keep from getting hurt by avoiding emotional attachment. She had fooled herself into thinking it worked for almost six months, but the pressure of their feelings had been impossible to contain. He told her that he loved her and always had; she told him to leave and never come back. It had ended, and she'd gone back to her normal routine, dating men with whom she didn't see any semblance of a future.

She found it disheartening to discover that in the ten years that had passed since she'd left Andy, the only meaningful relationships she had cultivated were friendships with the people at SVU. Of these, Elliot was the only one with whom she shared any real part of herself, and he was her best friend, not her lover. She kicked herself again for never telling him about Andy. There was a point at which talking would have helped, but now the questions would start, or, much worse and much more likely, the hurt and suspicious glares accompanied by assurances that nothing was wrong. Elliot would expect her to tell him eventually, and would keep up the cold shoulder until she did. She was already dreading the day when he would break her down, as she knew he would.

Until that day happened, though, she would have to stay focused on the case at hand. She found that her body had done just that, even while her mind wandered; she had already ascended the stairs, halting on the second from the top where three uniformed officers were standing. Munch and Fin stood with her. She assumed that Elliot and Andy were behind her. No one, not even Andy, greeted Healey, who looked down at the detectives from the top step, seeming to relish her physical position above them. Olivia felt like she was watching Caesar address the Senate in a poorly produced play. Healey's contempt for the plebeian NYPD detectives and officers was barely concealed as she said, "Nice of you to get here, but don't bother going inside because the body is in the dumpster out back." She paused, waiting for someone to ask her for more details. None of the detectives gave her the satisfaction. Unflustered, she continued, "The head librarian is out back with two other officers, and your CSU has been notified, and, after seeing the body, I can state without a doubt in my mind that the dead girl is definitely a victim of Terry Paige."

Olivia felt as if the last statement were an accusation aimed directly at her. She instinctively retreated, moving backward and slipping on the icy step. Her arms pinioned for a moment as she tried to fight gravity. At the moment her inertia became irresistible, she felt the counter-force of two people pushing her in the opposite direction, helping her regain her balance. She closed her eyes, knowing who had prevented her fall by the mere touch of their hands. Elliot, who rarely touched her unnecessarily, had removed his quickly as soon as the danger had passed, probably made self-conscious by the contact; Andy's had lingered on her waist, making absolutely sure her feet were firmly planted before letting go. She swallowed hard as she turned to face the two men, half-wishing they had allowed her to fall and avoid all the things she didn't want to face today. Flushing with embarrassment, she forced herself to speak. "Thank you."

Elliot nodded, not looking at her. Andy smiled, saying, "Hey, anytime. Protect and serve and all that, y'know."

Healey was not amused. "Well, if Det. Benson has finished her gymnastics routine, we can go around back to check out the scene." She practically shoved past them on the steps, heading toward the sidewalk on 42nd St. to get around to the back of the building. Olivia followed, along with everyone else, but wasn't paying more attention than necessary to the path of the abrasive Marshal. She stared at the sidewalk passing beneath her feet, sensing Elliot's eyes continuously boring into her back and Andy frequently glancing at her from her side, where he had fallen into step with her.

When she could no longer bear the double scrutiny, she asked no one in particular, "What?"

Andy started, assuming she had addressed him. "Nothing. Just...are you all right, Olivia?"

"Yeah. I'm just not really looking forward to seeing any more of Paige's handiwork in this lifetime."

He continued glancing at her every few steps, but said nothing more. The back of his hand brushed her own as they walked, and she wondered if the touch was intentional or accidental. He had always held her hand in public back when they were together. He hadn't stopped even when his buddies had teased him, told him he was whipped. He'd told her that he liked to make sure that everyone knew she was with him, but she had always suspected he had done it to assert his willingness to protect her. He had been the first boyfriend she'd told about the circumstances of her birth, and the knowledge, rather than scaring him away, had made him try to shield her. She wanted to feel that reassurance in warm squeeze of his hand now, even if just for a moment. She knew better than to expect any such gesture from Elliot, but wondered briefly if the feeling of immediate security would be the same.

Rounding the corner of the building, she saw two uniforms standing uncomfortably outside a taped-off scene next to a loading dock. With them was a gray-haired, bespectacled man in a tweed jacket. He looked painfully out of place, shivering in the cold alley. Olivia couldn't think of any possible reason that Healey had asked him, or more likely forced him to remain outside in the biting wind with only his thin jacket for protection. Even if he had been the one who discovered the body, he could have waited to talk to them inside. Thankfully sliding her hands into the pockets of her own thick, wool coat, she wished she had taken her gloves out of Andy's car.

Healey stopped at the crime-scene tape, spreading her arms wide to indicate the closed-off area. "Here's the dump site." Turning, she continued, "Detectives, this is Mr. Simpson, the head librarian, and he'll be granting us access to the building and staff." The little man nodded, looking terrified of arguing with her. "Stabler and I will canvass the staff and patrons while the rest of you go over the area and see what you can find on the girl." She pointed to a nondescript service door, which the librarian rushed to unlock.

Before she could disappear into the warm building, Fin objected, "We gotta wait until CSU gets here before we start goin' through the scene. They get pissy if we touch things we ain't supposed to be messin' with. And who put you in charge, anyway?"

Healey looked extremely put out, but seemed unwilling to argue with four NYPD detectives and grudgingly changed her plan of attack. "Fine, then go get some interviews done while we're waiting. Munch, Fin, you two take the immediate area and Andy, you and Benson stay here and make sure we find out what the ME and CSU have to say as soon as they get anything. And for the record, I'm taking the lead on this one because I found the body "

"You found the body. You mean, you _yourself _found it?" Munch's statement seemed to reflect the incredulity on everyone's faces.

Healey twitched slightly, but responded confidently, "I was in a cab on my way back to your precinct when Cragen called me and told me to meet you all at the library instead, so I came here and, since it was unlikely that Paige would drag a dead body into the building, I looked in the most obvious place first – the alley in back of the building. Now I think we should all get to work."

Munch and Fin walked off down the alley, both grumbling about know-it-all Marshals. Elliot followed the librarian into the building, without so much as a nod to his partner. Olivia felt the sting of his snub more acutely than that of the wind.

Andy caught his own partner's arm before she could go in after Elliot. "Healey, there are uniforms here who can make sure the crime scene is undisturbed. Olivia and I should be helping with the canvass."

"Just be here when the ME arrives, okay Eckerson, and call us when you find out anything." She went through the door, calling out before it shut, "Benson can take the time to think about what she's done." The force of the slamming door caused several icicles to fall from its frame, creating an odd musical tinkling to accompany the echoing crash.

"Healey, you fucking bitch!" Andy ran up the short flight of stairs and smashed his fist against the door. Olivia barely registered his angry outburst. All day people had been telling her that Paige's escape wasn't on her head. Healey was the only one being honest, the only one telling her the truth. It was just as she'd feared; she really was to blame for Paige's escape, for an innocent girl's death. She sat heavily on the edge of the loading dock, head in her hands, trying to make sense of the situation. The cold concrete chilled her through her clothing, but she welcomed the numbness. She felt a pair of hands on her shoulders and, without looking up, flatly stated, "I'm fine, Andy."

"No, you aren't. I know that Healey got to you just now, but you can't listen to her."

"Why not? She's telling me exactly what I want to hear." She was unable to keep the pained sarcasm from her voice.

He moved his hands up her neck and face, holding her head and forcing her to look at him. "I'm not gonna let you wallow in self-pity. I've lost track of how many times I've told you that this situation isn't your fault, but I'll keep telling you until you believe it."

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. He sighed, letting his hands drop to his sides. She became aware that the two officers who had been guarding the scene were watching them. She spoke to them instead of replying to Andy. "Hey, do you two have a car?" She received affirmative nods. "Why don't you pull it around so you're not stuck waiting in the cold." Both smiled in thanks and rushed away, eager to be warm again.

When they were gone, Olivia wasn't sure if she had sent them away because she cared that they were cold or because their disappearance would leave her alone with Andy. He was still standing in front of her, waiting for a response to his last statement. "Andy, I...how can I..." She paused, at a loss for words. Being alone with him was harder than she'd expected. She tried to buy some time to organize her thoughts. "Maybe you'd be more likely to get me talking if we were someplace warm?"

He got her not-so-subtle hint. "I'll pull the car around." As soon as he had rounded the corner, she stood, taking a latex glove from the pocket of her coat. Ducking under the crime scene tape, she approached the dumpster containing the remains of what, she was willing to bet, had been a pretty college girl. She wrapped the glove around the edge of the box's metal lid. It stuck with the cold, frozen in place. She wondered how Healey could have opened it not so long ago. She exerted more pressure and the lid snapped back, producing a metallic clang when it hit the wall of the building. She peered into the dark compartment. Staring up at her was a naked brown-eyed brunette, face marred by circular cuts around her eyes, lips and nose, as if she had been the practice dummy of an aspiring plastic surgeon. The rough, bloody slash across her throat clearly indicated her cause of her death. Bruises covered her pale skin.

Olivia could only stand and stare, finally confronted with the brutal reality that she was responsible for an innocent girl's murder. Andy, Elliot, Cragen, everyone had tried their best to convince her that this was a regular case, but the sick feeling in her stomach told her that she had been right all along. She took a step back, then another, getting ready to turn and run with each stride. She suddenly recoiled as she bumped into a solid body. "Get in the car, Olivia."

She hadn't heard Andy pull up or walk over, but followed his order without question. She heard him close the lid of the dumpster and walk after her. He didn't speak until they were both in the heated leather seats of his warm Suburban. "Was Healey right? Did Paige kill the girl?"

"Yeah." The new warmth on her skin did nothing to alleviate the chill that had settled into her core.

He sighed, taking her hand as she's wanted him to do earlier. "I guess you're going to need a whole lot more convincing that this isn't your fault."

As they watched CSU pull into the alley and begin their work, she remained in the passenger seat, still holding Andy's hand and fighting the strange urge to climb into his lap and cry.


	10. Chapter 9

When Dr. Melinda Warner first saw _The Sixth Sense,_ she felt as if she had found a kindred spirit in the little boy who could communicate with the dead. She saw dead people every single day and some of the secrets they shared with her were enough to make anyone's hair stand on end. She thought herself fortunate in being able to help the dead speak, and doubly so because no one thought it made her crazy. She was simply a well-trained, insightful forensic pathologist helping New York City's crime fighting efforts. In place of supernatural powers, she had her scalpel and fully stocked lab. She could make any body divulge its secrets with the correct battery of tests.

At times, however, none of that knowledge made her job any easier. She could rationalize the concept of death all she wanted, but there was nothing she could do to make sense of the reasons some people killed other people in gruesome ways. She had done the autopsies on the five bodies on which Terry Paige had been convicted and testified at trial that each girl had suffered an unnaturally painful death. She had also autopsied Emma Anderson, helped Det. Olivia Benson prove that Paige had been responsible for her death too. As she pulled her car into the alley behind the New York Public Library, she prayed the body she was about to see wouldn't resemble one of those six.

Collecting a small gear bag from her back seat and taking a deep breath of the frigid air, she walked down the alley toward the crime scene, nodding greetings to officers and techs who looked familiar. She saw Olivia sitting with some man in a black SUV and waved, receiving a brief wave in response. Ducking under the yellow tape, she proceeded to the dumpster. Crime lab techs were busily photographing and cataloging the scene, along with Craig Davis, one of her assistants.

He greeted her as she approached, "Dr. Warner, you're early. CSU wants to finish dusting the lid and rim of the dumpster before they let us take her out, but I've taken all the photos I could without getting in."

"All right." She smiled at the eager young man. He was very bright and a talented pathologist, but he was still a little green. "We need an initial exam from inside the dumpster. I'll let you conduct that, then I'll look over the victim once we get her out."

"What, the boss doesn't feel like dumpster diving today?"

"It builds character, Davis. Now hop in. I'm going to go talk to Det. Benson. Let me know when they're ready to take the body out." She turned and walked away before Davis could argue. She hoped he hadn't noticed that she hadn't even looked at the corpse. Olivia would be able to tell her if the girl was Paige's victim, and Warner wanted that preparation before going to work.

Going up to the passenger side door, she tapped on the glass of the window, which Olivia rolled down. "Don't tell me you're ready for us already."

"Not quite yet. Nothing for me to do until they take her out of the dumpster. It looked a little warmer in here, so I thought I'd join you."

"No problem. Hop in." Olivia's usual open sincerity seemed forced. She allowed Warner to settle herself in the back before introducing her companion. "Oh, by the way, this is Andy Eckerson, with the US Marshals. They're sharing jurisdiction with us on the case. Andy, this is Dr. Melinda Warner, our medical examiner."

Warner reached forward to shake Eckerson's hand, wondering why Captain Cragen had split up his dream team. "Nice to meet you, Marshal Eckerson."

"I'd say the same, but then we'd both be liars. Nothing against you personally, Doctor, just that circumstances rarely make it nice to meet someone in this job."

Olivia smiled slightly. "Your cynicism is so refreshing, Andy." The way he grinned back at her made Warner wonder how long the two had known each other and if their relationship were strictly professional.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes watching the activity inside the yellow tape, until Warner finally brought up the issue she really wanted to address. "So you think Paige is responsible for this one?"

Eckerson answered quickly, not giving Olivia a chance to respond. "Couldn't tell you that. We haven't seen the body yet."

Before Warner could ask for any more information, Davis knocked on the window. "We're ready to take her out, Doc."

She excused herself, regretting that she had to go back into the cold. Two techs had spread a tarp on the ground and were lowering the body onto it. Warner knelt and began her assessment.

As she went over the girl's numerous wounds, she practiced her favorite dissociation technique – reflecting on why she had chosen her career. Most people didn't understand that death was perfectly normal, not really something to be feared, especially when it wasn't happening to themselves. She thought back to a parent/teacher conference she had attended when her son was in first grade. His teacher had some concerns. "Jacob is a very well-rounded, happy child, but you may want to look into getting some counseling so we can nip potential problems in the bud." She produced a drawing from her desk. "The other day, I asked the children to draw pictures of what they would like to be when they grow up and, well, see for yourself." Warner had to hold back her laughter when she saw the drawing, which depicted herself, her son and a skeleton dancing around what appeared to be a gurney. The teacher hadn't appeared to see the humor. "I'm not quite sure what this picture could mean, but you can see why it raised some red flags."

"You'll laugh when you hear the explanation for this. I'm a forensic pathologist, and I work in the medical examiner's office. Jake is always saying that he wants to be a doctor like mommy, so I've taken him to work once or twice to either get him motivated or get him to change his mind. I guess this means he's motivated."

The look of horror on the teacher's face had been priceless. "You let your son visit you in a morgue?"

Warner couldn't let the opportunity pass. "It's not as if I'd let him near a corpse, at least, not until he's a little older." The discussion had ended right there with an insincere 'nice meeting you' and an uncomfortable handshake from the teacher. Warner had laughed all the way back to the morgue. She still had the drawing hanging in her office. It always brought a smile to her face.

She needed a reason to smile on days she had to deal with bodies like this one. She made notes on her clipboard, detailing the condition of the body. In her opinion, there were far too many wounds to record. As she and her assistant rolled the body, she came dangerously close to losing her mask of composure. The detectives weren't going to be happy to see this. Making a few final marks on her notes, she waved toward the Suburban. Olivia and Eckerson got out and walked over to hear her report. Warner found it odd that neither one registered any surprise when they saw the body, as if they knew what to expect. It was almost like they weren't seeing it for the first time.

Olivia opened the conversation with the flat observation, "Brown-eyed brunette. Just his type."

Warner ticked off her list of injuries. "Fluids are present and there's a good amount of vaginal trauma. Facial lacs around the eyes, nose and lips, probably made with a scalpel or some other very precise cutting tool. Bleeding indicates they were pre-mortem. Hands are tied behind her back with a cashmere scarf. Cause of death is probably asphyxiation from inhaling the blood when he cut her throat, but I'll know for sure when I've done the autopsy." She looked up, asking a question she already knew the answer to, "Matches your MO on Paige, right?"

"He beats her, rapes her, cuts her and slits her throat. That about sums it up. But you already knew that, Doc. You did the autopsies last time." Olivia had a strange calm about her, as if she were practicing some dissociation techniques of her own.

Warner understood the inclination. She was angry enough about Paige's treatment of the girl to need a quick count to ten before replying. "How could I forget?"

"Did you find anything tell us who she is?"

Davis jumped into the conversation, "We found her wallet under her when we took her out."

Eckerson inspected the contents of the plastic bag Davis handed him. "College ID from Columbia. Her name's Nicole Martin. She's a junior." Looking back down at the body, he asked hopefully, "Is there any chance it's a copycat? The news has been flashing Paige on TV so much that maybe some other sick bastard is taking advantage of the availability of a scapegoat."

Warner was a little confused by his readiness to invent another perp, especially when he was there specifically to catch Paige. "It can't be. The MO released to the press mentions the scarf and mutilation, but Paige's signature cuts were held back. No one outside the police should know about this particular pattern of lacerations."

He seemed disappointed. "Okay, so this is definitely..."

He was interrupted by the loud crash of the door as Elliot threw it open and stormed out of the building. "Well, we're done with our interviews, thanks to your partner, Eckerson."

Warner could only describe the woman who followed Elliot out of the library as the type of person she would expect to see wrestling bears in the wilds of Alaska. She started speaking as soon as she reached the alley and didn't stop until something else distracted her. "It was pretty obvious that we weren't going to get anything from anyone in there, since there are no windows that face the alley and no one was out here to see Paige dump the girl's body and I think your attitude is pretty unprofessional, Det. Stabler because I am just trying...oh, are we getting our forensics already? I thought I asked you to call me when we found anything out, Andy."

"Relax, Healey. Dr. Warner has just started her examination."

Healey, who Warner could only assume was another Marshal, was not shy about joining the discussion of the victim. "Well, Doctor, if you wouldn't mind starting from the beginning..."

After recapping her report for Elliot and Healey, Warner continued, "You should also see this." She and Davis carefully rolled the body, revealing a plastic bag attached to the girl's back. The bag contained an envelope addressed in an instantly recognizable hand, _To Elliot and Olivia, Manhattan SVU, c/o Nicole Martin_.

Olivia looked as if she were about to vomit, but managed to say, "It's definitely not a copycat." She leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the note, drawing back immediately as she saw how it was affixed to the victim's flesh. "Are those...?"

"Nails? Yeah. This looks like it was pre-mortem too. And look at these bruises. The coloration indicates that some are new, but others have had time to form and fade. This girl was beaten severely, over a period of several days, I'd say."

"Paige just escaped this morning." Eckerson seemed doubtful of Warner's assertion."Are you saying that he kidnapped and raped a girl who was already being tortured by some other sick freak?"

Elliot stated quietly, "Or his accomplice grabbed the girl a few days ago and started the party early."

"We never proved that he even had one."

Olivia didn't seem eager to discuss the subject, but Healey jumped all over the idea. "What's going on? There was no mention of an accomplice in your report."

Olivia sighed, but reluctantly elucidated the topic, "We had a theory when we were working the case that Paige had to have help in kidnapping the girls and dumping their bodies. We never found the guy, but the whole thing never quite resolved itself with Paige as the only perp."

"And do you have any forensic evidence to support this ludicrous claim?" Healey's demands for illumination seemed relentless.

"No, but there are some holes we never filled in." Warner had never seen Olivia answer a question so timidly.

"Like how and where he got the scarves," Elliot interjected, trying to support his partner.

Healey seemed surprised, "Scarves? You're creating another perp based on the fact that you can't place Paige in some store, God only knows where, buying _scarves_?"

"Not just scarves, Burberry scarves." Elliot seemed unwilling to let Healey intimidate Olivia, and appeared to be ready to fight the point. "The ones he used to tie his victims hands, found on each body."

Healey remained unimpressed. "Oh, you can get those scarves anywhere. I walk past guys in Times Square everyday selling the things out of garbage bags."

"Yeah, but those are fake. Paige only uses the real thing, and they were purchased in person, never online."

"How could you possibly know where they were purchased?"

Elliot's growing annoyance with Healey was clear in his response. "We tracked them by the lot numbers. Y'know, police work."

Olivia, seeming to gain strength knowing she had the support of her partner, once again became willing to explain. "Each scarf was purchased two days before each girl was taken. They were bought at different stores around the city, Saks, Macy's, the Burberry store off 5th, and all paid in cash. Two-hundred dollar cashmere scarves shouldn't have been that hard to trace back to Paige if he'd bought them himself, especially after his picture was splashed all over the news, but..."

Warner listened to the detectives and Marshals bat their ideas back and forth, and was suddenly very happy that she had chosen a career in medicine. For her work, it was usually a matter of filtering through the information that could be gleaned from a corpse and deciding which details were relevant. From there she could simply order the right tests and wait for the results. If there were a problem, she reviewed her findings and ordered more tests. Whenever a mystery presented itself on her autopsy table, it was only a matter of time before she got all the information she needed to fill in the standard blanks. Cause of death? Check. Suspicious marks? Check. Blood work? Check. She had nearly limitless options and a nice sterile environment in which to exercise them.

The people surrounding her, debating, had no such checklist and no sanctuary. A corpse was only the beginning of the investigation for them. She didn't envy their jobs for a second. They had all fallen silent, lost in their own musings. She was dissatisfied with her inability to give them anything but breadcrumbs, but tried to make the best offer she could, "I'll call you once the autopsy is complete."

"How long?" There was no demand in Olivia's voice, only a plea for some information that would help her stop Paige from killing again.

"I'll make it my top priority." Warner wondered how many people she spoke those exact words to every day. Every squad wanted their data as soon as possible, which she could understand seeing that some cases _had_ no leads other than those provided by forensic evidence. Usually when she told detectives that she was making something a top priority, she meant that it would get done as soon as all of her other top priorities had been seen to. Today, however, her intent matched her words. She headed back to the morgue to make good on her promise.


	11. Chapter 10

I've decided that I hate Terry Paige. There are very few people or things that I can say I truly hate, because hatred takes way too much effort to feel and maintain without a damn good reason. He's a rapist and a murderer, but these aren't the reasons I hate him. I see people like him all the time and I can usually describe my feelings toward them as disgust or dislike...something negative but impersonal. I'd probably be having that kind of reaction to Paige if not for one all-important difference - the things he's doing are hurting Olivia. That alone is enough to make me hate him.

If I'm using that standard, I have to be honest and admit that I hate Healey right now too. I'm sure it was her parting shot that prompted Olivia to look into that dumpster while I was pulling the car around.

I think she almost cried when I got her back into the car. If I didn't know her as well as I do I wouldn't be worried about something like that, but she's the kind of person who doesn't cry unless she is in very real pain, physical or emotional, or is very, very happy. I mean, we were together for three years and in that whole time I only saw her cry on four occasions - when she broke her nose at cardio kickboxing, when I proposed, when she broke it off with me, and when she found out... Wow. Ten years have passed and it still hurts like hell to think about that last one. Anyway, the point is she only cried four times over the course of our relationship, and I don't even think the nose one really counts, since your eyes tear reflexively when you get hit there.

She sitting in the car with me now, and while her eyes have lost the glossy shine that indicates the onset of tears, they've also lost their sparkle. This morning all I could think about was keeping her smiling, but now I just want to stop her from crying. At least we've finally left the library, after four long hours of learning almost nothing. Fin and Munch couldn't find anyone in the area who had seen anything suspicious and Healey and Stabler's canvass of the building hadn't turned up squat.

The only real hitch we encountered was the time frame of Nicole Martin's disappearance. We were all standing in the alley, watching the coroner load the body into his van when Olivia got off the phone with missing persons. "They have a file on our vic." She gave us a few details on the girl before imparting the most disturbing news, "Her roommate at Columbia filed a report with the police on February third."

"But today's the sixth. Are you saying this girl has been missing since Sunday?" Healey was skeptical, as if Olivia were making up information to support her own theory.

I wanted to laugh in my partner's face, but Stabler beat me to it. "So she's been missing for three days. Kinda makes you rethink your stance on a second perp, huh Healey?" He was obviously still smarting over the way Healey had tried to rip the theory to shreds in front of the ME.

She didn't miss a beat. Sometimes it's like she's got her responses planned for every permutation of every situation, just so she'll be prepared to look superior. "Not at all, Stabler. Maybe she was coming off a bender and got grabbed before she was sober enough to call her roommate and say she was fine or maybe she's a druggie or a gambler and got into debt with a loan shark who roughed her up. There are a whole lot of maybes that don't involve the invention of another killer and I suggest we investigate those before we start following up on NYPD fantasies."

I think that was the moment I finally began to really understand why nobody else could work with her. When I transferred to New York, my new boss warned me the space I was getting was only available because no one could stand Healey. I hadn't cared. My goal was to be in the city, closer to my family and closer to Olivia, even if I wasn't in contact with her. I guess I had put up with Healey as long as necessary. I sarcastically shot back, "Yeah, how about you find out where she was then, Healey?"

She looked at me as if I were Judas Iscariot before turning on her heel and walking away. She called back, "I'll be at the crime lab looking for _real_ evidence if anybody needs me." The rest of us split up some logical assignments and got to work.

So now Olivia and I are headed uptown and I'm still no closer to convincing her that she isn't to blame for Paige's escape and subsequent actions. Blame, fault, responsibility...I think I put a negative in front of every synonym in the thesaurus trying to make her believe that she isn't somehow guilty for Paige's crimes, but she's still not willing to accept it. I decide to try a new tactic - distraction. "Why don't we get a bite to eat before we head up to Columbia? It's almost 5 and I'm starving." She nods and I double-park in front of the first restaurant I see. "Pizza okay?"

"Sure, but you can't park here." She folds her arms across her chest and points her chin in the air, which is Olivia for 'I'm not moving until you do what I say.' I used to get this one a lot when I tried to coax her into bed before the dishes were done or the laundry folded. Of course, back then it usually resulted in sex on the couch and a poorly organized linen closet.

Since I know the whole sex thing isn't an option now, I try to rationalize my position. "Liv, this thing has government plates. I could park on the ice rink at Rockefeller Center and not get a ticket." I stop myself. "Ugh...that sounds like something Healey would say. Do you see any spaces?"

She smirks in a self-satisfied way, but it's not a real smile. "Just circle around the block, we're bound to find something."

"You didn't have a problem double-parking outside Marcia Baron's place."

"Marcia lives in the Village. This is Seventh Avenue. Traffic patterns are a little different."

She's right of course, even if we do have to walk half a block back to the pizza place. It's not crowded this early in the evening, so we sit in a booth toward the back. She raises her eyebrows when I order a pitcher of beer, but doesn't object. She knows we both need something to take the edge off. The beer comes and we order a large pizza with everything, falling into silence after the waitress has left.

I pour the beer and we both drink it gratefully. She stares into her glass between sips, avoiding my gaze. I try to get her talking by alluding to my invitation from three months earlier. "So I guess you couldn't resist finally having a drink with me."

I'm hoping my attempt at humor will lighten her mood. Instead she looks up at me with serious eyes. She's tense as she asks, "Andy, what are you doing here?"

I was wondering when she'd notice that. I _did_ tell her I was going back to Virginia the last time that I saw her. I state the obvious anyway. "This is my job."

She still won't smile at me. "I meant in New York."

"Yeah." I take a moment to consider my response. She hasn't really asked for reasons, so I stick with facts. "I transferred to the New York office right after the Baxter case. I, uh, I never went back to Virginia."

"Why didn't you leave?" She's still staring at me, her voice taking on what I imagine is a quiet demand for me to explain my sudden reappearance in her life.

I wish I could give her some big romantic speech about how I couldn't bear to be so far away from her, but she's had enough to deal with today. I opt for the less complicated version of the truth. "My dad had a heart attack the day I was scheduled to fly back, so I stayed. Everything turned out fine, but it made me realize that I might not have much time left with him. I decided that my family was here and I should be too."

"Oh. I'm glad your dad is okay."

"Yeah." If anyone were watching, they'd probably assume we were on an awkward blind date. I fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers, assuming the conversation has ended when she doesn't say anything further. We both finish the contents of our glasses and I pour a second round before she speaks again. "So, you've been living here for three months?"

I get the feeling that she's really asking 'Why didn't you call me?' so that's the question I answer. "I would have called you, but I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Oh." She pauses, looking away. "I'm sorry, Andy. I...I should have called. It's just that first I was mad at you and when I stopped being mad I thought it was too late because you were in Virginia and you'd feel rejected and wouldn't be able to see me even on the off chance that you wanted to see me and..." She's babbling, but she saying so many things I want to hear that I let her go on. "You know, I wasn't even mad at you, I guess I was really mad at myself, but..." At a loss for words, she changes the topic. "I wish I'd known about your dad. I would have gone to see him or at least sent a card or something. Your parents were always so nice to me. I mean they probably wouldn't want anything to do with me now, after I...well, after I..."

I decide to interrupt her before she digs herself in too deep. "Hey, it's fine. It's my fault too here. I had your number. I could have called you. I _should_ have called you. And, by the way, my mom and dad would have loved to hear from you. They, uh, they still ask about you every so often."

The pizza comes and the conversation is cut short. It's just as well; she looked uncomfortable when I mentioned my parents' continued interest in her. They always adored her. My mom is still upset over our breakup. I'll never forget the look on her face when I told her it was over between Olivia and I. We were sitting in the living room of the house in Staten Island where my sisters and I grew up. She didn't ask why, just stared down at the coffee table for the longest time, looking as if I'd just crushed her fondest dream. She eventually stood and went to the sideboard. She shuffled through the top drawer for a few minutes. I knew she was crying, but I couldn't go comfort her. The most acutely felt loss was mine, after all. When she came back, she handed me a real estate brochure with an ad for three-bedroom white colonial circled in the bottom corner. "I picked it out for you two. I thought it would be perfect, in a nice neighborhood with a yard where the kids could play."

The thought of kids had felt like a knife in my guts. I still tried to make my mother feel better. "It's okay, Mom. We're cops, so we couldn't have afforded it anyway." That night, I went back to the apartment Olivia and I had shared and started packing. I remember being confused about why I'd loved the place so much; it was nothing special – one bedroom, a shower that dripped, a dishwasher that was less than reliable. Sitting across from her now, I wonder if she ever thinks back to how happy we were in that little apartment.

I can't bring myself to ask her, of course, so we continue eating in silence. I pour us another round to finish off the pitcher. A few minutes later, both the beer and the pizza are gone. I pay the bill and we're leaving the restaurant when she finally says something. "I know it's a little late, but thank you for the flowers." Even after three beers, she hasn't relaxed.

"Oh. You're welcome," I respond automatically as I search for a more appropriate reply. I come up with, "I wasn't sure that you'd gotten them."

"I did." We walk down the darkening street a few steps before she catches my arm, stopping me. "Do you think Healey's right?"

Oddly enough, it's the first thing she's said since sitting down for dinner that isn't laced with tension. "Olivia, you know that I don't think any of this is your fault, so I don't know why..."

She interrupts me, "I mean about the second perp. Do you think we're reaching on that one?"

"No. I think the circumstantial evidence supports the theory and it's only a matter of time before CSU delivers something that confirms it. I'll bet she's just angry that she didn't come up with the idea first. As for her attitude, don't take it personally, Liv. Healey doesn't work well with other women, especially beautiful ones like..." I stop right before I say 'you.' My mouth hangs open for a second before I snap it shut, looking straight ahead. I wonder when giving a simple compliment became so tricky. I used to tell her how beautiful she was a hundred times a day.

"So, you're saying that she's just competitive and doesn't actually think I'm incompetent?"

"Yeah. That's it." I doubt I sound convincing. She knows exactly what I meant to say anyway. I can tell by her smile. It's small, but it's there as we get back into the car.

I pull into traffic and we ride in silence for a while before she blind-sides me with another burst of her guilt. "That damn second perp theory is one of the reasons he's out."

"What do you mean?" I don't want to encourage her, but she's never going to stop blaming herself if no one makes her see how ludicrous her reasons are.

"I thought if we could pin another murder on him he'd get sick of taking the heat on his own and roll on his partner. Novak didn't want to bring the additional charges against him, since he was already on death row, but I had to insist. Emma Anderson's parents we so relieved when I told them we were charging him with her murder. All they wanted was closure. Now I have to find another girl's parents and tell them their daughter is dead."

"You won't have to tell them anything. You know that Cragen has already called them. They live in Montana, so they won't be here for a few days, and by then we'll have Paige back in custody."

"You sound so sure."

I glance over at her. She's looking at me intently, like she's expecting me to crack under the pressure of her stare and admit that I'm not really sure. I come close, but I stay strong by telling myself that I'm doing it for her. "We're gonna catch Paige. And you're gonna see that he's made all of his own choices in this thing, and none of them are your fault."

We arrive at Nicole Martin's off-campus apartment with no further conversation. As we walk up the steps, I finger the crime-scene Polaroid in my pocket. I don't know how Olivia does this everyday, asking parents and husbands and friends to identify loved one's bodies from photographs. Three months ago I told her she baby-sat victims as if it were an insult. I never imagined how much harder her job is than mine. I can only guess that this meeting is going to be a lot more difficult than the one at Marcia Baron's this morning.

She knocks on the door, which is answered by a curly-haired girl with tortoiseshell glasses. "Cassandra Roberts?"

"Yeah, that's me."

She shows her badge and the girl's face falls. "I'm Det. Olivia Benson, this is US Marshal Andy Eckerson. We'd like to talk to you about your roommate, Nicole Martin."

We step inside the apartment at 7 o'clock. It's almost nine by the time we calm Cassie down enough to get the information we need and leave her. Olivia hands her a business card as we're walking out. "If you remember anything you think might be important, call me. My home number is on the back, so anytime day or night is fine, even if you just need to talk." I couldn't do this everyday if my life depended on it.

It started snowing when were inside, and about an inch has fallen already. It muffles the sounds of the outside world as we drive back to her precinct.

"Do you think they'll have any leads for us?"

"Stabler said he'd call you if they got anything, and, since he hasn't called..." I trail off when she flinches as if she's suddenly remembered something unpleasant.

"I shouldn't have told him."

"Told him what? To call?"

"About us." The tension I heard earlier in her voice is back. It was only there in the restaurant, when we weren't talking about the case.

"I think Stabler knows about us. He was there when I asked you out four years ago." I have no idea why that particular aspect of our personal relationship is making her so nervous.

"No, not that us. I told Elliot about the real us, and now I can't stop thinking about us as _that_ us."

"I can't even begin to understand that."

"Andy, when we broke up I stopped thinking about you. I had to. I wouldn't have been able to move on if I hadn't. Then we ran into each other four years ago, and I didn't tell anyone who you really were because then I could think about you without all the baggage. And that's the way I've thought of you ever since, as the guy I bumped into and ended up sleeping with for six months. Fantastic sex, but no real relationship. That's how things were three months ago and that's how they were today until I had to go and tell Elliot about us. The real us. And now I every time I think about you, every time I look at you you're the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Everything is back to the way it was ten years ago and all the pain and loss are..." She stops without completing the thought. I'm speechless as we pull up to her precinct.

She doesn't need to say anything more because neither of us wants to talk about it anyway. It hurts to know that she's consciously avoided thinking about me, but I have to admit that I understand her reasoning. I have a sudden revelation. "Is that the real reason you broke up with me? Because I reminded you of...because you couldn't look at me without remembering?"

"It's one of the reasons," she sighs, getting out of the car.

I follow her onto the sidewalk, asking, "So, aside from...the other thing... you really think I am a reckless, cynical bastard?"

"Yeah. No. In the best possible way, I guess. I liked that you were unpredictable and exciting. It never bothered me until I realized that it was gonna get you killed, and I couldn't lose you like that, not after..." She draws a shaky breath, unable to continue speaking. Then she does the last thing I expect. She steps into me, burying her face in my shoulder, wrapping her arms around me. I freeze for a second before I'm able to return the embrace. I'm instantly disoriented by the intoxicating scent of her hair and I forget where I am. I'm sure it's cold, but all I can feel is her warm body pressed against me. I kiss her gently on her temple; she nuzzles my neck. We stand in the gusting snow for almost five minutes, holding each other, allowing the wind to carry away the ten years we've spent apart, hoping it can blow away the pain as well.

"What the hell are you doing?" Healey is glaring at us from the door of the precinct. I let go of Olivia and step in front of her, as if I expect Healey to charge or something. All we get is the customary verbal onslaught. "Well, I guess this explains where you two have been for the past few hours, since taking statements isn't a lengthy process." She walks up to us, looking us over as if she expects our clothes to be rumpled and our hair disarrayed. Our lack of discomfiture must disappoint her, because she huffs and continues past us.

"Healey, where are you going?"

"I'm going home because they're forecasting a blizzard with about a foot and a half of snow, and if you don't want to get stuck here until the weekend, I suggest you do the same, although it looks like you'd probably mind it a little less than I would, what with your...Taxi!" She dashes off to the cab she's just hailed before I can reply.

I turn to look at Olivia, but she's disappeared. The only indication that she was really there is the trail of her footprints in the snow. I follow them into the station, hoping she's fled because of Healey, but knowing that our embrace has probably renewed the ache of the past for her rather than erasing it.


	12. Chapter 11

Fin Tutuola was not looking forward to the next few days. It was snowing and it was going to keep snowing for hours. After it stopped snowing, it was going to take the city a few days to clean up. Between now and that time, he was going to have to walk through snow whenever he needed to go somewhere. It was going to be deep, and it was going to get in his shoes, making his feet cold and wet. Thinking about all these things that were going to happen put him in a nasty mood.

He cheered himself by thinking of the bad couple of days that Munch was sure to have. Cragen had reorganized the partnerings for the case so he, Fin, was now with Elliot and Munch was with Healey. She hadn't liked the way he and Elliot had teased Munch immediately after Cragen turned his back, and she'd left in a huff. He wouldn't be sad when she left at the completion of the case.

On the other hand, chasing Terry Paige was kind of a rush if he could make himself forget about who the guy was and what he did to college girls. The whole concept of a manhunt reminded Fin of his days in Narcotics when he'd gotten to have shoot-outs with drug dealers and go undercover. Chasing a killer who had escaped from prison definitely ranked with the exciting situations most people linked to police work. Movie-cop stuff. If anyone made a movie about SVU it would be horror or sick psychological thriller rather than the action/adventure he occasionally missed. Fin had hoped this case would be a change of pace up until the point Nicole Martin had turned up in a dumpster. Now it had turned into another glamourless pervert-hunt.

Things had certainly looked grim after he, Elliot and Munch left Missing Persons that evening. They'd pulled the files of any college girls reported missing in the past week that matched Paige's type. Not including Nicole Martin, they'd come up with four hits for girls missing since the weekend. Four new driver's license photos hung on the board, four new brown-eyed brunettes that Terry Paige could have stashed somewhere. Fin was ready to scream with frustration.

For all his pent-up anger, however, Fin couldn't imagine how Elliot felt. His fellow detective was sitting at his desk, staring intently at the board, though Fin doubted he was studying the pictures of their new potential victims. A copy of the note found with Nicole Martin's body was also hanging on the board. Fin shuddered as he reread it.

_Dearest Elliot and Darling Olivia,_

_I hope you aren't working too hard to find me. I'd hate for you to be tired when it comes time for us to dance. _

_Best Wishes,_

_T._

Munch hadn't needed to perform content analysis on that note. They all got the message loud and clear.

Fin assumed the note was the reason Elliot flipped out on Eckerson when he entered the room alone around ten, brushing the snow from the shoulders and sleeves of his coat. "Where's Olivia?"

"She's not up here yet?"

Elliot got up in Eckerson's face. "No, she's not here. She's supposed to be with you. You're supposed to be making sure she's safe."

"Look, I stopped outside on the way in to talk with Healey. Olivia went in, so she's obviously somewhere in the building."

"What did you not understand about Paige being after her? Do your fucking job!"

Eckerson leaned in and said something Fin couldn't make out, but it made Elliot turn red with rage. He raised his voice and continued speaking, "She's probably in the bathroom or something. She doesn't want or need someone looking over her shoulder all the time."

"She doesn't have psychos stalking her all the time," Elliot shot back as he left the squad room. Fin couldn't really understand why Elliot hated the Marshal so much. Despite what everyone else seemed to think of Eckerson, Fin had to give him some credit. He knew how to do his job and he wasn't afraid to make the tough decisions. Not a lot of people had the balls to order a kill shot, even if it meant saving lives. Eckerson had earned his respect with that action alone.

"Is Captain Cragen still here?"

Fin gave the Marshal an affirmative nod. He walked into Cragen's office, shutting the door and leaving Fin and Munch alone.

"Why's Elliot hate Eckerson so damn much? Is he still pissed over that hostage thing?"

"What, you wouldn't resent a person you thought put me in unnecessary danger?"

Fin scowled. Some days he appreciated his partner's deadpan humor, but others he wanted to shake him until he was incapable of delivering anything but straight answers. "Look man, it's been a long day and I hate snow, so just answer the question."

"I think Elliot dislikes Eckerson not only because of the case three months ago, but also because of the fact that Eckerson used to date Olivia. I think he's worried that the good Marshal might take his _bodyguarding_ assignment a little too literally."

"She had a thing with Eckerson?" Fin thought back to the day in the motel in Cape May. When he'd gotten up to the room where everything had gone down, people had been milling around, tending Baxter, checking on the kid, but Olivia was nowhere. Worried, he had sneaked a look into the bathroom only to see her sitting on the edge of the tub with Eckerson squatting in front of her, hands on her waist. They'd been talking, but he didn't hear anything since both pulled away as soon as they saw him watching. He thought aloud, "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Well, a bunch a things. Like why Eckerson was so ready to shoot Baxter. And why he shoved the SWAT team outta the way to get up to that room after he ordered the shot. And why he..." Fin trailed off. He'd been intending to tell Munch about the scene he'd witnessed in the bathroom, but changed his mind at the last second. Olivia was a private person; she wouldn't want the details of her personal life splashed all over the precinct any more than he would.

Munch, like any good detective, couldn't let it rest. "And why he what?"

"I was just gonna say that maybe that's why he's back. Y'know, he still likes her or somethin'." Fin thought Munch was about to make a smug reply, but instead the conversation ended as Eckerson walked out of Cragen's office.

"So, Captain Cragen tells me there's some new information that you two can fill me in on."

"Yeah, we got the note back from the crime lab and we got some information from Missin' Persons..."

Munch interrupted, "Why don't we wait for Olivia to get back so we don't have to go through it twice."

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Eckerson hung up his coat and sat down at Olivia's desk without another word. After a few minutes, he turned. "Oh, and Det. Munch? Sorry you're stuck with Healey."

Fin decided he had to respect anyone who could give Munch a shit-eating grin like Eckerson was and get away with it.


	13. Chapter 12

Olivia stood in the women's bathroom, still wearing her coat and scarf, splashing cold water on her face. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that her skin temperature was already well below normal from standing out in the snow, but she continued her attempt to douse the fire that began in her cheeks and extended to God only knew where. Being in Andy's arms, inhaling his familiar scent, she had had a flash of how happy they'd been and almost let go of all her reasons for staying away from him.

She abruptly stopped trying to rinse him off her. She had tried to describe his scent to a friend once, but found that words like 'warm' and 'happy' couldn't convey a fragrance to another person. She inhaled slowly and found that she could still smell him, though she couldn't be sure whether his cologne lingered on her clothing or in her mind. Leaning against the wall, she sank slowly to the floor as the memory of one of the best days of her life, the day everything had changed, overcame her.

* * *

February 14, 1994

The bright light filtering through the curtains told her the morning was already well underway as Olivia woke up under a thick pile of down comforters. She peeked out from under the covers; the digital clock on her night-table read 9:14. The thermostat in the apartment was on the fritz again, but the combination of goose feathers and shared body heat made her almost oblivious to the chill in the bedroom. Only the crown of her head was exposed to the cold, and she remedied the situation easily by ducking her head under the covers and snuggling her face into her boyfriend's neck.

Finally warm all over, she noticed something strange – her left arm was numb. Really numb. She could barely feel or move it. It took her a moment to understand why. They'd slept in an odd position – on their sides, chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other. Her arm was numb from being pinned by his body all night.

He woke as she tried to tug it out from under him. "Mmmm...frisky this morning, aren't we?"

"No, I just want my arm back."

"Oh." He shifted his weight, allowing her to pull her trapped arm free. His sleepy blue eyes reflected disappointment. "So, not at all frisky then?"

Not wanting to leave him hopeless, she replied, "Gimme another hour or two to sleep and I'll let you know." Encouraged, he began kissing her neck, sucking gently on her skin as she focused on her arm, rubbing it to restore the blood flow. When she had eliminated her pins and needles, she lightly pushed his face away. "You're just lucky I didn't develop gangrene sometime during the night."

He feigned hurt as he returned to nibbling her neck. "Would you have chewed it off if I hadn't woken up?"

"With our insurance plan? Not likely." She still wanted to go back to sleep, but the hand that had moved up to caress her right breast was making her reconsider what she really wanted. She made one last feeble attempt to put him off. "Aren't you tired after last night?"

"Nope. Make-up sex has a rejuvenating effect on me." He paused to kiss up the line of her jaw, whispering, "But tell me this, do you even remember what we fought about?"

She found she honestly couldn't, not that she really wanted to at the moment, with his fingers deftly twisting her nipple and his lips traveling down her neck and shoulder to give her other breast some attention. She never really expected much foreplay in the morning, so she enjoyed the sensations his hands and tongue were creating while she could.

He suddenly pushed her onto her back, rolling with her and ending up on top of her. She felt the reason he didn't want to go back to sleep pressing between her thighs. Unable to pretend she wasn't interested, she spread her legs a little wider. He raised his head and pressed his lips against hers.

When the kiss broke, she smiled wickedly at him. "You need to brush your teeth."

He immediately replied, "So do you."

"Well, keep your tongue in your own mouth for now if you don't want me to roll over and go back to sleep. Morning breath is kind of a turn off." They had the same exchange every time he tried to make out with her before breakfast. She knew she wouldn't care what he was doing with his tongue in a few minutes.

After it was over, they lay still for a moment, panting. Before he could catch his breath, she pulled his face against her own in a wet kiss, only allowing it to break when she needed to come up for air herself.

"What happened to no kissing before we brushed our teeth?"

"Mmmm...you deserved a kiss after that."

Burying his face in her chest, he resumed his earlier activities.

She playfully tried to bat his head away. "I have a doctor's appointment today. How am I going to explain being covered in hickeys?"

"I think they're kinda self-explanatory."

Placing her hands on his cheeks and raising his face, she kissed him gently. "I'm glad you're off today."

"Mmm, me too. I'd hate to think about you sleeping in as I patrolled the streets. Anyway, I've got a big night planned for us and I need the day to prepare."

"Do your preparations include laundry?"

He rolled off her to avoid her gaze. "I was kinda hoping you'd forgotten."

"Hey, girlfriends have better memories than elephants." She threw the covers off and immediately regretted the necessity of getting out of bed. Shivering, she ran into the bathroom hoping the water would heat up quickly. She stepped into the shower as the water began to steam. Just as she reached for her shampoo, Andy pulled back the curtain and got in. "Thought I'd join you."

"You can possibly be ready to go again."

Running his hands through her wet hair he said, "What, I can't take a nice, relaxing shower with you on Valentine's Day?" He took the shampoo bottle from her hands and worked a gentle lather into her hair. She'd never had such an enjoyable shower.

An hour later, she headed out the door. "I'll be home a little after two."

"Okay. I'll have the laundry done. I promise."

She kissed him goodbye in the doorway. "Oh, and Andy? Don't forget to change the sheets." He chased her into the hallway, kissing her and making her promise to come home as soon as possible.

Four hours later, she stood outside the door of their apartment, deciding if she were ready to go in. She couldn't have imagined how one annual physical could alter her mood so much. After it was over, she had sat in the coffee shop around the corner from their apartment for almost an hour, debating whether she could tell him.

Unlocking the door and going in, she was surprised to find the apartment clean, dishes and laundry done, and the table set, complete with candles and flowers. She really hadn't expected that. Ruining this was going to be awful.

Andy stepped out of the bedroom wearing a dark suit and tie. "Hey, you're late. Did you see? I cleaned."

She tried to keep her voice even, normal. "Yeah, looks great. Uh, you look really good, too."

He smiled, smoothing the front of his jacket. "Well, I've got a big romantic night planned for us, starting with dinner, so put on something sexy and we can get started."

Catching his arm as he walked into the kitchen, she said the four words she knew would get his attention, "Andy, we need to talk."

His face fell. "Is something wrong, Liv?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. I...God, I don't know why this is so hard." She led him to the couch, hoping the short walk would allow her to muster her courage. It didn't.

Alerted now that something was very wrong, Andy became visibly uneasy. "Did something happen at your physical? Liv, if you're sick, you know I'll be here to take care of you, right?"

"I'm not sick. It's...please, don't be angry, I didn't expect this any more than you did."

"Liv, whatever it is, just tell me."

She looked deeply into his concerned, searching eyes. She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

His eyes widened in shock. "Pregnant? Like, with a baby? Sorry, obviously a baby. This is just...Wait a minute. You're on birth control. How exactly did this happen?"

"The doctor said that it just happens sometimes. That's why they call it 99 effective apparently."

The smile he gave her was completely unexpected. "So we're gonna have a baby?"

She couldn't keep the incredulity from her tone. "Do you want to have this baby?"

His excitement faded immediately. "Oh, Liv, I'm sorry. If you don't want to, or can't, or whatever, I'm here for you. I just assumed..." He trailed off, looking away.

Seeing his disappointment, Olivia had a startling revelation – she hadn't been worried that he would react badly to her news; she was just terrified over the prospect of motherhood. She wondered how she ever could have doubted his love and support. She suddenly felt like she could be a mother as long as she had him. "I want to do this if you're right there with me."

"So I'm gonna be a daddy?" She nodded and he pulled her close, holding her for a moment before kissing her. He pulled away abruptly, saying, "Don't move." He ran to the table, grabbed something from under a napkin and ran back. "I wanted tonight to be perfect for you, because well..." He knelt in front of her, opening the black velvet box he had retrieved from the table. "Olivia, I love you. I've loved you since the day we met. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And now, more than ever, you should know that." He took her hand, holding the sparkling diamond ready to slide onto her finger. "Olivia, will you marry me?"

"Yes." She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him.

"Are you crying?"

"I just...sometimes you still surprise me so much."

* * *

Sitting on the bathroom floor, Olivia pulled her knees up and leaned her forehead against them. She'd never realized how hard she tried to avoid thinking about that Valentine's Day; she was surprised by how quickly it had all come rushing back to her. Not thinking about Andy had almost made her forget all the good things along with the pain.

"Olivia?" She raised her head as Elliot called her name. She decided she was ready to tell him. Part of the truth anyway.


	14. Chapter 13

Elliot walked out of the squad room on a mission. If he had been angry when he'd seen Eckerson walk in alone, he was absolutely furious after what the Marshal had said during their exchange. He had leaned close to reply to an accusation, "My 'fucking' job? So, you think she shouldn't be sleeping by herself until we catch Paige?" Even after interrogating hundreds of perverts and child molesters, Elliot had never had to work so hard to stop himself from hitting someone.

Thinking back on it, he couldn't be sure if Eckerson had been serious or just baiting him. Either way he was completely sure of one thing – Olivia deserved better. There was no way in hell he planned to let her settle for Eckerson, previous relationship or not. The guy had been rubbing him the wrong way since the day they met, and that was before Eckerson had done anything to put Olivia in danger.

He stopped short in the empty hallway, wondering for what felt like the hundredth time why she had never mentioned that Eckerson was her ex when she'd introduced him. Or any of the other occasions they'd been in the same room together. Or any of the times Elliot had ragged her about dating the cop with a reputation for being a hot-headed daredevil.

The thought of all the swipes Elliot had taken at Eckerson four years ago got him walking again. For all the things he'd said about the then-detective, Olivia had never responded. He'd asked her repeatedly why she was dating such a jackass, why she didn't dump him and find someone better. Thinking back on it, he realized her total lack of response should have tipped him off that something wasn't right. He should have been laughing at jokes about how even jackasses are hung like horses rather than silently watching her go back to her paperwork. At the time, he'd assumed she hadn't reacted because she knew he was right, but now...

He was hit by a sudden burst of guilt, wondering if he'd gone too far with some of the things he'd said about Eckerson. He would have toned down his attitude if he'd known. Poking fun at his partner's temporary bed-buddy was a whole different animal than mocking someone she'd actually been in love with. That was almost like making fun of her emotions. Even the thought of hurting Olivia like that made him feel ashamed. He shook his head as he arrived at the ladies' room door; in the short walk down the hall he'd swung from hating Eckerson to hating himself.

Elliot pushed open the door and called out, "Olivia?" He heard his voice echo against the tile, joining with the sound of running water. He stepped through the door into unfamiliar territory. He'd gone to check on his partner in many places, but the women's bathroom was a first. He felt as if he had stepped into a parallel universe; the colors and tile patterns were the same as the men's room, but the lack of urinals let him know he wasn't in Kansas anymore.

He had prepared himself to begin knocking on stall doors when he saw her. She was sitting on the floor next to a sink whose tap had been left running. He turned off the water before addressing her. "Um, Liv, you're on the floor."

Her voice was distant. "I know."

"In the bathroom."

"Yeah." She paused, looking up at him, raising her eyebrow as if realizing who was speaking to her for the first time. "I am in the women's bathroom, right?"

"Uh-huh."

She kept looking up at him, as if trying to decide whether she should ask him to leave. Her eyebrow arched slightly higher when he sat down next to her. He realized that whenever he pictured her, it was with that one eyebrow up. It was integrated into all of her best expressions. He sat silently contemplating the expression she was wearing now – introspective and...sad. She was staring straight ahead, perhaps still thinking about whatever she'd been brooding over when he'd come in. He gave her time to come out of her reflections.

She eventually spoke under the pressure of his stare. "So did you find out anything at Missing Persons?"

"Liv, we can talk shop back in the squad room, but right now I'm sitting on the floor of the ladies' room, so I think we can skip the small-talk."

"You want to know why I didn't tell you about Andy four years ago." She didn't make it a question.

"Well, I would have started out with asking how you're doing, but since you brought it up..."

She spoke as if a dam had broken. "Our relationship, our real relationship...it, uh, didn't end well. I thought if I didn't tell you, I wouldn't have to think about it. I could just enjoy having someone to curl up with at night. In fact, I didn't want to think about it. I still don't. You know, I've been sitting here remembering the day Andy proposed to me, and I realized that it's been years since I've even thought about it. I loved him so much that I almost married him. How does that just go away like it never happened?"

Elliot hadn't been prepared for this. He tried to ignore the tears in her voice as his made his own statement out of a question. "You were engaged to him."

She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I was with him for three years. Three years of my life with the same person and I just blocked it out so I wouldn't have to think about how much it hurt when it was over. Who does that? I mean, moving on is one thing, but just trying to forget...it doesn't work. And now everything I felt and never gave myself a chance to feel is coming at me and..." She turned to him. "Elliot, what do I do?"

He floundered, "This is kind of a lot to take in at once." She looked away, staring at the wall again. Not wanting to feel as if he were failing her, he tried desperately to earn the faith she was placing in him. "I don't really know if there's anything you can do. Just take it one step at a time. Try to sort things out, figure out why this is all coming back to you. Put reasons on your feelings..." He trailed off, unsure if his analytical approach was helping her.

When she looked at him, the sparkle in her eyes told him he'd said something right. "So I should start thinking like you?"

He returned her banter, "Whatever works in a pinch." She half-laughed half-sighed. Seeing that he'd made her feel at least a little bit better, he took the opportunity to relieve himself of what had been bothering him before he'd found her. "Olivia, I owe you an apology."

"For invading the women's room?"

"No, it's...uh, I've said some things about Eckerson that have been kinda rude and uncalled for, and I'm sure some of them were, well, hurtful to you too. If I'd known about your, uh...history...with him, I wouldn't have said them."

"How does knowing I was with Andy for three years back then change your opinion of him now?"

Despite everything Olivia had just said, Elliot found it impossible to go soft on Eckerson. "I haven't changed my opinion of him. I still think he's an arrogant prick who's only interested in one thing." He spoke quickly as he saw an opening for all his observations about the Marshal to come out. "Like in the squad room just now, when I accused him of not watching out for you closely enough, he asks me if I think you should be sleeping alone while Paige is out there. And the way he keeps looking at you. And doesn't it bug you that he stands so close to you?"

"So you're basically saying that you're sorry if you hurt my feelings while still insisting that you're right?" He looked over at her, ready to defend himself, but was relieved to see her smiling.

He grinned back at her. "I love the way you cut through the bullshit, Liv."

"Hey, they didn't promote me to detective for nothing." She paused. "Why are you so worried about me and Andy?"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt. From what you just told me, you're still having trouble dealing with whatever happened ten years ago, so I'm even more worried about you now."

Her smile faded as she grew serious again. "El, it's just kinda tough sometimes with you as the only man in my life. When Andy and I were together, it was..." She sighed, trying to put her memories into words. "We were happy. We had a future. I got to say we instead of just me. I miss that."

"You'll have that again." He couldn't stop his personal prejudice from getting in the way. "Preferably not with Eckerson, but you'll have it."

"Y'know, you didn't have a problem with him three months ago."

"He hadn't gotten you taken hostage three months ago."

She let the argument go. They'd had it several times already. "He isn't all bad."

Elliot reluctantly admitted, "I know that. You wouldn't have wasted your time with a guy that didn't have some redeeming qualities. But I still don't have to like him."

"Deal." He was glad to have his partner back to normal. She wasn't in the habit of getting so intensely emotional around him, and he was suddenly very thankful for that.

Still on the floor, he tried to steer the conversation back around to the reason she hadn't married Eckerson. "So why did you really break up with him?"

She answered too quickly, "Oh, the usual. We had a huge fight. We both said things we didn't mean but couldn't take back later."

"Fine, you don't have to tell me."

Looking at him sideways, she stated simply, "You know me way too well." When she didn't continue, he realized she wasn't going to tell him. Standing, he offered his hand and pulled her up off the floor.

Brushing herself off, she said, "It's true about the fight. I think that's how most relationships end. We just had more baggage than most. And I don't know if I'm ready to tell you."

"Hey, I can take anything you dish out."

"I didn't say you weren't ready."

He decided the best thing he could do would be to stay ready. "I'm here when you do want to talk."

"I know." She led the way out of the bathroom. As Elliot followed her back to the squad room, he wondered what could possibly be too painful to share with him.


	15. Chapter 14

Cragen wouldn't let me switch partners. I figured I should try to get Olivia out of the mess I was getting her into just by spending so much time with her, but he told me it was impossible. Well, he told me that switching was impossible, not that trying to help Olivia was impossible. I didn't share that particular motivation with him.

I check my watch and see that I've been sitting at her desk for almost twenty minutes, trying to pretend it doesn't bother me that Stabler is the one comforting her. There was a time when she ran to me instead of from me when she was upset over something. I'm assuming she's upset because it's better than the alternative explanation – she just couldn't get away from me fast enough. I think back to our embrace on the sidewalk, going over every detail and deciding once again that she initiated the whole thing. Now she's probably angry she let it happen, angry she let me in. She already knows what happens when I get too close.

I wanted to turn around and find her the moment I saw she wasn't in the squad room, but Stabler beat me to it. I'm sure he couldn't wait to find her and tell her he'd discovered my true intentions. I shouldn't have responded to his accusations the way I did, but I couldn't resist. If I'm honest with myself, I'll be thrilled to spend the night in Olivia's bed before this case is over, even if she can't tell me she loves me. Hell, I'll take ten minutes in the broom closet if it means I'm with her.

Munch looks up from his paperwork as I stifle a laugh at that last thought. "Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

"Not particularly." I hope I sound nonchalant, especially since I feel a little dirty thinking about sex in the sex crimes squad room. Munch grumbles something about 'federal conspiracies' as he goes back to whatever he was doing and I go back to thinking about Olivia.

Lately I've been forcing myself to think about the lowest points in our relationship, trying to figure out how I let them get so out of hand, I guess. I mean, I know I never had complete control, but there are some things I know I could have done differently...

Every so often I wake up in a cold sweat after a nightmare, thinking we're losing our baby all over again. Everything was fine for four and a half months, then, two days before we were going to find out if we were having a boy or a girl, it happened. One minute we were asleep, the next she was screaming in pain, clutching her slightly swollen belly. There was blood in our bed, blood on my hands, blood everywhere. I didn't bother to call an ambulance, but radioed a friend I knew would be on patrol near our apartment. I had to carry her down two flights of stairs. Holding her in the back seat of the cruiser, I was so afraid she was going to die before we got to the hospital.

People stared as I ran in to the ER, holding her in my arms and escorted by two uniformed officers. I was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else; she was naked except for the blanket I had wrapped around her. I hadn't been thinking very clearly when I ran out of the apartment with her. I wasn't thinking clearly in the hospital either. All I could do was demand that they save her. They took her to surgery.

I waited for what felt like a week. When the doctor finally came to talk to me, I was still a wreck. Is was all I could do to ask, "Will she be okay?"

His bedside manner was less then comforting. "Barring any infection that could develop, she'll be fine."

"And the baby?"

He looked at me like he'd never heard such a stupid question. "I'm sorry, but there was nothing we could do to save the fetus."

And, just like that, Olivia and I were no longer parents-to-be.

Lying in her hospital bed, holding her as she cried, as _we_ cried, was the most agonizing thing I'd experienced up to that point in my life.

After a few hours, she said, "You almost had me convinced."

"Of what?"

"That I could be a good mother."

If I had said the right thing in that moment, I might have saved us. Instead, I told her everything would be all right and buried my face in her hair. We stopped talking after that. I don't mean just for that night, but for the remaining two months of our relationship.

She wanted to talk. I knew it, but I avoided her. I spent more time at my own precinct, more time out with the guys. I still loved her. How could I not? I just didn't know what I could possibly say to her anymore. She was in so much pain and I couldn't fix it. I was impotent and it was scary. I turned into the biggest jerk possible.

One night, two months after we lost the baby, my partner and I walked into a convenience store robbery. The perp got spooked and fired a few wild shots before we took him down. He was the only one that got hurt. My partner and I were treated like heroes; we even got our faces on the local news. After the cameras stopped rolling, every cop we ran into bought us drinks. I was wasted by the time I finally got home. I'm almost surprised that I can remember what happened.

Olivia was sitting on the couch, waiting for me. "You're home late."

"Yeah. You see me on the news?"

I wanted her to be excited, but she was subdued. "Uh-huh. Hero cop, very impressive."

I sat down next to her, trying to kiss her cheek but making contact with her neck instead of her lips. She pushed me away. "I can't."

"It's been two months."

"Andy, this isn't going to work if you..."

"If I what, Olivia? Try to have start having sex with you again?"

Her reply was completely off-topic. "I don't want to lose you. I can't."

Thinking she just needed some reassurance, I spoke into her neck as I started kissing her again. "Don't be so paranoid. I'm not gonna get shot, I'm not gonna get hurt."

"Oh, and walking around drunk in your uniform is the safest thing you can possibly do?"

I wouldn't make myself understand her. I just wanted to get laid and I started to get angry when I saw she wasn't in the mood. Still. I thought long and hard for a moment before saying the most hurtful thing I could think of. "Why do you think I'll be safe if I'm here with you? My baby was inside you, and you couldn't keep it safe. Hell, you couldn't even keep it alive." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted saying them, regretted even thinking them. I didn't believe them for a second, but I couldn't take them back.

Reaching into her chest and ripping her heart out would have caused less pain than those words did. I tried to apologize, but she wouldn't listen. She tried to leave; I tried to stop her. I think she punched me. Everything else was a blur.

The next morning, I woke up on the kitchen floor, still wearing my uniform. The night came back to me in bits and pieces, like a bad dream. I called in sick, showered, changed and went out to find her. I checked with all of her friends, her precinct and even my own parents before I found her at her mother's place.

I don't think her mother ever really liked me. When she answered the door she was even colder, painfully formal. "Andrew."

"Please, I just need to talk to Liv."

"I'm afraid she won't see you."

"No, you don't understand, I just need to talk to her."

"All I know is that you hurt my daughter badly enough to drive her to me of all people. She told me what you said to her."

"Ms. Benson, you know I would never say those things to Olivia if I wasn't drunk." I decided not to push too hard. "Please, if she won't talk to me, just tell her that I'm sorry and I love her."

She sighed before responding, "In vino veritas, Andrew. Now, get out and leave us alone." She didn't slam the door but shut it quietly in my face. I went back to our apartment and waited for Olivia to come home.

I ended up waiting for two weeks. One day when I came home from work, all of her stuff was gone and her engagement ring was sitting on the kitchen counter. I finally understood that she wasn't coming home. I was absolutely furious. I'd given her everything she could have wanted. I had loved her more than anyone could expect to be loved. I actually went to her precinct and got into a shouting match with her; we both got reprimands for that one. I started sniping more discretely, spreading rumors. It was high school and I was the jilted quarterback trying to make the head cheerleader pay for making me look bad. I was so angry that she'd left me it took me almost three months to remember why.

When I finally realized how much I needed her, how much I loved her, it was too late. I had already destroyed every vestige of our relationship. By the time I saw her five years later, we were practically strangers. She was with Stabler and some other detectives, but she looked so alone. I don't know if it was because she actually was lonely or because she was the only person in the bar I could see. I went over to talk to her, and she treated me like an old friend rather than an ex-lover. At the end of the night, I asked her out to dinner, but she just invited me back to her apartment. She didn't want me to love her; she wanted me to fuck her. Speaking simply as a man, how could I say no? For six months I gave her exactly what she wanted, until I couldn't hold it in anymore. I told her I loved her and she threw me out of her life. Again. Three months ago she wouldn't even give me a chance to buy her a drink.

I'm pretty sure it was after I saw her three months ago that I started to think rationally about why we couldn't reconnect. It's taken me ten years, but I can finally see the things I've done wrong, the ways I've hurt her. I know what to avoid, what not to say and do. For the most part, I was happy when I was with her. I want that feeling again.

I lose my train of thought and snap to attention as Olivia finally walks into the squad room, Stabler right behind her. I wish I could hate him, but now I know I can't. He cares about Olivia, watches her back, both on the job and off. Grudging respect is too strong a phrase, but I can't think of any other way to describe how I feel about the guy.

I'm already standing, so I offer her the chair as she comes over to her desk. "Liv, about earlier, I'm, uh, sorry if, well, y'know, I did something or, uh..."

She touches my arm and says, "Andy, it's okay." She smiles and I manage to give her a weak smile in return. I think we may be defining 'okay' in drastically different ways.

Cragen provides a third, less loaded meaning as he emerges from his office, "Okay, people, now that you're all back, let's see what we got."

I already know what I've got – a major uphill battle to get Olivia to give me another chance. Not that I deserve it.


	16. Chapter 15

Cragen came out of his office as he saw Elliot and Olivia walk back into the squad room. He'd forced himself to stay calm as Eckerson had come in without her half an hour before, held his tongue as Eckerson had requested to change partners. Cragen would have been glad to grant the Marshal's request and get things at SVU back to normal, but Terry Paige had destroyed normal for a lot of people. Cragen preferred to think of the disruption caused in his own life, the worry for his detectives that was nagging him; the ruin of Paige's victims' lives was too profound to think about at the moment.

Walking over to his detectives, he interrupted their conversation, "Okay, people, now that you're all back, let's see what we got."

Elliot shrugged. "Same as we've had all night, Cap, four missing girls that fit Paige's type, one dead."

It was obviously the first time Olivia had heard about the three new potential victims that Paige might have kidnapped. "That's not his MO. He's always taken one girl at a time and dumped that body before grabbing a new one. And he's gone weeks between grabs. Do we really think he's stockpiling girls now?"

"He just escaped from prison. He knew we'd be on him, so he had his buddy take a few girls so he wouldn't have to go out while he was hiding from us." Elliot continued looking at her as he discreetly stood in front of the board, his right hand slipping behind him to remove the note found with Nicole Martin's body. Cragen chose not to say anything. She didn't need to see it just yet.

Olivia had moved on without noticing her partner's action. "Oh, good, we can now confirm he's been planning this thing for weeks. Now I feel better."

"Hey, at least now we got proof Paige ain't workin' alone," Fin said. "We also know he has somewhere that he stashes 'em and does the deed, so we figured he might be keepin' 'em all there. The crime lab got some stuff under Martin's fingernails that they identified as fertilizer."

"So Paige kept her at his 'farmhouse'?" Olivia scoffed, frustrated. "They didn't find an address by any chance, did they?"

"No," Munch began, looking at her from his desk, "But given that Paige just got out this morning and had only a few hours to rape and murder Martin and dump her body behind the library, his hideout must be somewhere close to the city, if not in it."

Olivia didn't respond, so Cragen took the opportunity to distract her. "Did Cassandra Roberts have anything for us?"

She collected herself and, pulling her eyes from the three unfamiliar photos on the board, ran down the facts she and Eckerson had obtained during their interview with Nicole Martin's roommate. "Cassie was pretty upset. It took us a while to calm her down enough to get anything out of her. She and Nicole went to a club in the Village on Saturday night. Cassie went home early, Nicole stayed with some other friends. When Cassie couldn't track her down on Sunday, she reported Nicole missing, and hadn't seen her or heard from her since."

Cragen experienced a distinct sense of déjà vu as Olivia sat on her desk next to Eckerson, who squeezed her shoulder. He shook off the feeling as he made a conclusion, "So do we think that Martin was grabbed somewhere in the Village on Saturday night or Sunday morning?"

"That's what it looks like."

"Right, so how does that look against our other potentials?" He turned to the detectives who had visited Missing Persons. Elliot glanced over at Munch and Fin, as if telling them he would speak, before he stepped forward.

"Well, we did a search at Missing Persons for missing college girls with brown eyes and brown hair and we came up with four missing in the past week, including our vic." He moved over to the board, pointing at each girl's picture as he related the details of the cases. "Melissa Carpenter, junior at NYU, lives at home and mother reported her missing on Monday, but hasn't seen her since Friday. Sarah Obertello, sophomore at NYU, missing since Friday, no name on who filed the report. And Marina Vasquez, junior at Fordham, missing since Sunday according to her roommate." He paused and looked at Olivia. "And the background's already been done on Nicole Martin, junior at Columbia, reported missing by her roommate on Sunday, found dead today."

"They all got snatched over the weekend," Fin clarified. "No way Paige coulda pulled that off."

"Agreed, but until we get some solid physical evidence, I don't want anyone outside this room knowing that we're looking for an accomplice." Cragen thought for a moment. "Well, no one but Healey and the crime lab, I guess. The press is having enough fun with this story already, and I don't want to give them anything else."

Elliot inclined his head as he spoke. "It's probably also to our advantage that Paige doesn't know that we know he's got help. If he doesn't know we're looking for another guy..."

Eckerson interrupted, "Paige isn't stupid. He knows we're gonna track down the Missing Persons reports and find out, at the very least, that Martin disappeared before he escaped."

"Paige doesn't even know that Martin was reported missing." Elliot stared at Eckerson, getting directly in his face, challenging him. Cragen had the distinct impression that Elliot was using his customary act from the interrogation room to intimidate the Marshal, but didn't take the chance.

Stepping between the two men, he said, "I think Paige is going to figure out that we know about the accomplice at some point, if he hasn't already, so let's treat this like he does know."

"Fine." Elliot sat at his own desk, continuing to glare at Eckerson, who had maintained his position next to Olivia.

Cragen steered the discussion back to the case. "We do have some new information, but I don't know how helpful it's gonna be."

"So we've heard from the ME?" Olivia asked.

"Yeah, Warner sent the autopsy report over. Preliminary testing of the fluids in Nicole Martin indicate a positive match for Paige, and only one sample present. Facial lacs are also an exact match. There's also a slight change in the cause of death."

"She told us it was the same as the others – throat slit, choked on blood."

"Yeah, but the autopsy revealed something new." He hung a photograph of Martin's neck wound on the board and read directly from the report in his hand, "'The throat was cut, but the laceration was not deep enough to cut the trachea. Lacerations on the side of the neck indicate that the external carotid artery and jugular vein were severed, causing the victim to exsanguinate.'"

"He's getting more sadistic." Olivia's voice had gotten very quiet. "It takes a hell of a lot longer to bleed to death than choke."

"Let's just try to focus on catching him. We have contact info for the people who filed the Missing Persons reports on two of our new potentials, so Elliot and Fin, you can take the Carpenter girl's mother and Olivia, you and Eckerson talk to Marina Vasquez's roommate."

"Does that mean I get to take a whip and wooden chair into the steel cage to try to train Healey while everyone else does police work?"

Cragen worked to hold back a smile as he said, "No, John, you and Healey will be tracking down whoever filed the report on Sarah Obertello."

"So I take it we're going to talk to these people tomorrow then?" Eckerson asked, glancing at his watch. "Although, with college students..."

"That's what we've got to go on, so, yeah. Weather permitting, of course. Speaking of this snow, I suggest that you all get out of here before you're trapped in the station for the night." Cragen felt a swell of pride as nobody got up to leave. "Right, well, it's almost midnight, and I doubt we're going to get much done tonight with so little to go on. This isn't going to get any easier tomorrow, so I want everyone to catch a few in the crib. If anyone's still up at 2, I'll kick your ass before I tuck you in myself."

Munch, standing and stretching, quipped, "Gee, and I was gonna ask to borrow the car tomorrow."

Cragen smiled and walked over to pour himself a cup of coffee. As he passed by Elliot's desk on his way back to his office, he heard Olivia say, "Elliot, let me see the note."

"It's not important. No clues, no new info. You don't need to see it." Cragen admired Elliot's desire to shield his partner, but wondered if Elliot had thought his plan through. Concealing evidence from a fellow detective wasn't normally interpreted as a noble gesture.

Olivia apparently felt the same way. "I don't need to see it? Since when am I restricted to seeing only certain pieces of evidence? I'm working this case, same as you. Show me the damn note."

Cragen saw Elliot hand the note to Olivia, and rushed into his office before he could see her response. He'd seen enough of her alarmed and frustrated expressions for one day.


	17. Chapter 16

Marina Vasquez didn't know how long she'd been chained to the concrete wall in the cold, dank room she was sharing with three other women. Two now that Nicole was gone. They talked about her as if she had been released, but thought about her as if she were dead. At least Marina did. She would never try to bring it up to Vanessa and Sarah. They had enough to worry about without the discussing the threat of death that was now hanging over their heads in an increasingly palpable thickness in the air.

They didn't speak much beyond introductions as it was. Marina had been the third to arrive; Sarah and Nicole had already been chained to the wall when she'd gotten there. Vanessa had been brought in not long afterwards. All had the same story about how they had come to the place – grabbed from behind, restrained, blindfolded, forced at gunpoint into the room they were currently in.

At first only a woman had come to the room. They all agreed that she was the person who had taken them, brought them to this awful place that smelled of oil and shit. Occasionally she brought food and water, but she always came with some kind of weapon. The first time she had beaten them all with a heavy metal rake, the next with a crowbar. Marina had vague memories of a wooden bat, a wrench, glass bottles...everything was a little blurred. She didn't really want to remember anyway. All she knew was that she could barely move without pain.

Marina couldn't be sure of the time frame with no changes in light to indicate the passing of time, but after what felt like a few days, a man had come without the woman. He hadn't said a word, but he'd unchained Nicole and taken her somewhere. She hadn't come back. That was the point when Marina had decided she had to escape or resign herself to death. Her silent prayers reflected only the latter.

She had decided early on that praying was her best recourse in her current situation. It was certainly better than Vanessa's incessant rambling about how she should have taken a later train and Sarah's humming of cheesy pop songs. Marina had the unshakable faith, instilled in her since childhood, that God would provide. If ever she needed to rely on God, this was certainly the moment.

Her faith remained unshaken until the man and woman returned together, bringing food and water only for Sarah and Vanessa. They unchained her and dragged her down a dark hallway into a different concrete room. Marina scratched and clawed at both of them, kicked her legs with all the energy she had left in her battered, weakened body. Despite her efforts, they tied her to a creaky metal bed frame, rope connecting each of her limbs to a different corner, leaving her spread-eagled. She could only listen as they stepped to a table on the other side of the small room and busied themselves with their backs to her. He called the woman 'sweetie;' she called him 'dad.' They chatted casually about the weather and what to have for lunch before the conversation became frightening.

"This one was a good choice, Sweetie. Almost four days with you and she's still got some fight in her. This will be a nice warm up. I'd hate to disappoint Olivia when she comes to visit our little farmhouse."

"Don't worry, Dad, I'll have that Benson bitch here on Monday if everything goes according to plan, and that cocky shit Stabler will be with her."

"Two for the price of one. We'll just kill him, but I think she'll be fun to have around for a while."

"Let's not keep her around too long."

"When you were little you wanted a pet. Now I tell you we're getting one and you're not at all eager."

"I haven't been little for a long time, Dad, and besides, she's not the pet I'm interested in with Andy Eckerson jumping through hoops for her."

"Hm, I'd almost forgotten about the Marshals. Don't let yourself get too distracted by this Eckerson guy. No matter what you may think of him, he's still a cop and would bring us down no matter what."

"Don't worry, I'm as objective as ever." She turned and walked back to the bed. The light from the hanging bulb in the room glinted off a small metal object in her hand. "Ready for the main event, cutie?"

Marina screamed as the man roughly grabbed her head. The excruciating pain in her face where the woman cut her was nothing compared to what came next. After the man climbed off of her, she felt a slight pain across her neck, as if someone were drawing a line with a ballpoint pen. Two sharp pains followed, and she felt a warm wetness on her shoulders, creeping down. Everything hurt, but she felt as if she were falling asleep. Her last thought as her mind faded to blackness was, _Why did you let this happen to me, God?_


	18. Chapter 17

Olivia sat at her desk, head in her hands. The squad room was empty, everyone but herself having opted for sleep. She couldn't possibly sleep, not with the threat of Terry Paige hanging over three innocent girls. She tore her eyes from the new pictures on the board and, forcing herself to concentrate, focused on the Missing Persons report in front of her.

Half an hour later, after reading the same blurry line for the fifth time, she finally gave in to her need for rest, reluctantly closing the file. Before she could stand, a pair of hands settled on her shoulders. If the touch hadn't told her who was behind her, the cologne she inhaled with her next breath removed all doubt. She turned awkwardly in her chair and looked up at Andy, staring into his eyes. "What are you doing?"

His smile was kind, patient. "It's not a come on, Olivia, it's a back rub. You'll be pissed off in the morning if you're sitting here with a sore neck all night, so I'm really doing it to save myself grief."

She wanted to ask him to stop, but the pressure of his fingers kneading her neck and shoulders felt too good. Knots that had been bothering her since the previous day seemed to dissolve under his touch. She started to relax and found herself leaning her head against his stomach. She hoped her smile wasn't too obvious.

Ten minutes later, she was completely relaxed. Sighing contentedly, she said, "Thank you. I think I might actually be able to sleep now." She stood, but before she could move from behind her desk, she felt a gentle kiss at the nape of her neck. Turning, she found he had pushed her chair aside, removing the barrier between them. He was close, almost pinning her between his body and her desk. She started to get very nervous. "What if someone sees?"

Rather than replying, he kissed her, long and intensely. She tasted coffee and cola, but underneath she could taste him, his flavor as unique as his scent. It was too much to resist. She slid her hand around his head, encouraging him to continue the kiss. In the back of her mind, she knew she was in the squad room and should have been controlling her impulses, but she was too tired to care. She moved closer to him, bringing herself into full contact with his body and feeling him begin to harden through his clothes as she rubbed her hips against him.

He pulled back for a moment to look at her. His voice was deep and almost gruff as he said, "I want you. Now." She could only nod.

He swept his arm across her desk, clearing it of its odds and ends. Glass shattered as one of her framed photos hit the floor, but she couldn't have cared less. He pushed her back onto the desk, and she pulled him with her. The weight of his warm body on top of her created strange pressure points as her back pressed against the hard surface of her desk, but the thought of what was coming made her forget her discomfort.

He managed to unbutton her shirt and slide her pants and panties to her knees before she could even loosen his tie. Not bothering to lift her to unclasp her bra, he simply rolled it up, exposing her breasts. His teeth tugged at her nipples. He was being rougher than she usually liked, but she decided he was just nervous. He probably screwed on desks in police precincts about as often as she did.

"Andy..." She moaned as he caressed one of the strange sensitive spots on her body that only he seemed to be able to find. Having given up on his tie, she fumbled with the buckle of his belt, wondering why she should have such trouble removing his clothes when he had stripped her so easily. She finally got his pants undone, pushed them down, spread her legs and waited for the amazing...

"Liv?" Someone's hand was on her shoulder, making her jump.

Olivia sat up as her eyes shot open and found herself on a cot in the crib. Andy was sitting on the cot next to her, his hand hanging in the air where he had withdrawn it from her shoulder a moment before. She blinked hard to clear her vision of the image of him on top of her in the squad room. "Uh, W-what time is it?"

"About 7. I was just getting up and I thought you said my name."

"I must have been dreaming."

She didn't like the way he smirked. "Must have been a pretty good dream."

"What, I say your name so I'm automatically having some great dream?" She winced inwardly at her defensiveness and tried to play it off. "You've got an even bigger ego than you used to."

"Actually, it was the way you moaned after you said my name." His grin widened. "You were having a sex dream about me."

"I was not." She stood, running her hands through her hair to smooth it, and suddenly felt a wave of nausea. She didn't mind the occasional sex dream at home in her own bed, but in the precinct in front of the man she was dreaming about was enough to make her queasy. The middle of an investigation that centered on a serial rapist and murderer was quite possibly the worst time her subconscious could have selected to drop its none-too-subtle hint about Andy. She started as she realized the last time she'd associated sex with vomit she'd been pregnant. The unexpected reminder of her miscarriage made her want to get away from Andy even faster. She headed for the door.

He followed, apparently mistaking her haste for embarrassment. As they reached the door, he spoke again. "Was I good?"

Wanting nothing more than to wipe the smile off his face, she said, "No. You couldn't even get it up."

Rather than removing his smile, her comment added to it. "So you admit that you were dreaming about me."

Realizing her mistake, she resorted to an all-purpose comeback. "Shut up, Andy." She practically ran down the hall, eager to surround herself with people in the squad room. Being alone with him was getting more and more difficult. It was impossible to deny her attraction to him and she wasn't going to be able to restrain her need to talk about their relationship much longer. With the investigation going so poorly, she didn't know if she'd be able to deal with her own pain and memories along with everything building up around her.

As she walked into the squad room, she saw that Munch and Fin were already sitting at their desks, discussing something vague. "So you think it's gonna stop some time today?"

"Please, this isn't going to end any time soon."

Olivia was about to ask if something had happened in the case when she noticed that Munch was gesturing toward the window. She let out a shaky breath as she realized they were talking about the snow and not Paige. Walking to the window, she was shocked to see that New York had turned white overnight. The snow looked like it was a least a foot deep and showed no sign of letting up.

From across the room, she heard Fin say, "Anyway, looks like we won't be doin' any background on these girls today."

"Hey, and maybe Paige will see how bad the weather is and decide he should hold off on the torture, rape and murder so he can go out and build a snowman." Olivia would have smiled at Munch's sarcastic comment if it hadn't been so dishearteningly apt. They were going to be stuck doing nothing while Paige had total access to his victims.

"You don't gotta be so negative." Fin sounded exasperated, like he hadn't slept much. "We don't even know for sure if Paige has these girls. This is all just guess-work cuz we can't find any other leads."

"So it's just coincidence that one of four girls who disappeared over the weekend has turned up dead a few hours after Paige escaped?"

"That doesn't mean it's gotta be a conspiracy either. Nothin' like keepin' a positive attitude, John. Mornin' Olivia."

She nodded in greeting to Fin, sitting down at her desk. "Where's Elliot?"

"He's braving the elements to bring us much-needed sustenance," Munch said. "And to answer your next question, I believe this 'sustenance' will be coming in circular, frosted and hot, caffeinated forms."

She could hold back a smile. "Good. I'd hate to think we weren't behaving like stereotypical cops." The conversation ended as the phone on Munch's desk rang.

The prospect of donuts made Olivia think back to one of her first arrests. It had been an intoxicated college kid collared for drunk and disorderly. He probably would have gotten off with a warning instead of a misdemeanor if he'd chosen a different outfit when getting ready to go out; her partner had decided to arrest after seeing the slogan on the kid's T-shirt – 'Bad cop. No donut.' She and Andy had laughed over that one for a good while when she'd gotten home.

She immediately halted her wandering mind. Every time she had let her thoughts drift in the past day, they had always gone straight to memories Andy. Her total loss of control was beginning to scare her. What frightened her even more was what she might do to get it back. The last time she'd lost control of her relationship with Andy she'd willingly given up the happily-ever-after she'd thought she always wanted.

She had sat at her desk for almost an hour the previous night thinking about their breakup, something she had always avoided thinking about. For two months after her miscarriage she'd been living in terror that losing her baby was just the beginning. She had never known that losing anything could hurt so much and every day she started expecting a call telling her that Andy was gone too. After seeing him on the news, involved in a shooting no less, she had decided the only way to save herself more pain was to give him up on her own terms.

He'd ended up giving her the perfect excuse. She was surprised by the unprovoked attack in which he'd blamed her for having a miscarriage, but it saved her the trouble of explaining her real motivation for wanting to leave him. How could she ever have told him that she was so afraid of losing him that she could no longer be with him? Looking back, she couldn't understand her own logic. She wondered why she hadn't taken a friend's advice to talk to a psychiatrist or a counselor back then; she'd seen enough women battling depression during her tenure at Special Victims to finally understand that talking to a professional could have saved her a lot of loneliness.

She watched as Andy crossed the room, trying to reconcile what she felt for him now with what they'd shared before. She could still feel the old sparks, but she'd also spent ten years convincing herself that all they had left was that amazing sexual chemistry. Her emotions were jumbled, but what she did know for sure was that she still loved him. It was going to take a hell of a lot more willpower to dodge his advances, at least until she figured out if she loved him like she loved, say, Elliot, or if it were something more.

She steeled herself as he sat down in the chair next to her desk, saying quietly, "Sorry I pushed it upstairs. I just got...I don't know, a little excited that you were dreaming about me. I didn't mean to piss you off."

"It's fine." She took a deep breath. "I was just embarrassed."

His self-assured smile returned. "Embarrassed that you were dreaming about me or that I caught you?"

"Both."

He lowered his voice even more. "You, uh, never actually answered my question from earlier."

"What question?"

"Was I good?"

"You actually woke me up right before we got to that."

"Oh." He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. "So even dream-Andy's striking out."

She thought for a moment before answering, "It was really more of a rain delay."

"At the risk of sounding incredibly corny, would you give me the chance to make your dream come true?"

Drawing back for a moment, she wondered if she should take his bait. She had no doubt that he was masking a serious proposal under his facile come-on. Taking another deep breath, she said, "Look, I'm not gonna sit here and tell you I'm not interested, but I can't think about us right now, not with this case going on. Can we just put off discussing this until we've caught Paige?"

"Put off discussing what exactly?"

"The increasing national debt, Andy." She could tell he wanted a confession of her feelings; he was lucky he was getting a guarantee that they would talk. She needed more time to figure out how she really felt.

"Okay, I get it. Not the time or place. But you promise we'll talk once we catch Paige? And I mean a real conversation about our...about us."

"Yeah." She smiled as she realized she now had two reasons to look forward to the end of the case.


	19. Chapter 18

Elliot said he would buy the coffee and donuts himself. He regretted the decision as he stepped out the front door of the station into the gusting snow. He practically had to wade through a snow bank that had formed on the front steps. Most of the cars parked out front had been reduced to oddly shaped white lumps. Trying not to think about how they reminded him of the snow forts he could be building with the twins, he readjusted the collar of his coat and walked down the street. It took nearly all of his concentration to maintain his balance in the soft, deep powder and driving wind.

Once inside the bakery, relieved of the cold and effort of walking through the snow, he was able to think about the reason he'd really volunteered to leave the warm station house. Olivia had still been asleep when he'd left the crib and he'd yet to phrase the question he wanted to ask her. He needed more time to figure out exactly how to ask her about her history with Eckerson. He had lain awake for hours, puzzling over the conversation they'd had in the bathroom. She had said that the reason for her breakup with Eckerson was too painful to discuss. After some careful consideration, he had come to the obvious conclusion – Eckerson had cheated on her and she didn't want to tell him, Elliot, because she thought it would affect their work environment.

As easy as that answer seemed, there were some pieces that didn't fit. If Eckerson had betrayed Olivia like that, it was unlikely she would have renewed the relationship as she'd done four years ago. And she certainly wouldn't behave the way she was now. He thought back to the previous night. Though there had been several cots available, including one beside himself, she had chosen the one next to Eckerson. Elliot had been feigning sleep, so he doubted she'd done it to spite him, even if she'd still been mad about the note at that point.

He grimaced as he thought back to that little incident. He knew he shouldn't have tried to hide Paige's note from her, but he really had had her best interest in mind. The look on her face as she'd read the note had made him wonder if he'd made the right choice. She'd collected herself before looking up at him defiantly, but didn't say a word. Her eyes had flashed with a mix of anger, hurt and frustration. She'd ignored him for the rest of the night, making him feel like crap until he'd finally slinked off to the crib to try getting some sleep. He'd spent most of the night wondering about her and Eckerson.

While he respected the distance she at which maintained her emotions, Elliot found that it was one of the things that bothered him most about his partner. If she could just babble on and on about her feelings like a normal woman, he wouldn't have to worry about her so much. Of course, then she wouldn't be as easy to spend time with...

"Can I help you, sir?" He snapped out of his reverie as the clerk at the counter addressed him. He found a blank stare was all he could muster for a moment. "What can I get for you, sir?"

"Uh, sorry. Guess my brain hasn't quite thawed yet." She gave him an understanding smile as he quickly scanned the pastry case. "I'll take a half-dozen bagels, a dozen muffins and a dozen donuts, with at least four chocolate frosted. Oh, and six coffees. Large ones."

"With an order like that, you must be a cop." He smiled and waited for her to put his order together. As she piled the three boxes and two trays of coffee cups on the counter, he realized it was going to be a challenge to get it all back. He took out his wallet, but the clerk said, "No charge. I'm just glad to see New York's finest don't take the day off for a little snow."

"Thanks." He picked up his boxes and trays and turned back into the snow.

Five minutes and six nearly-spilled coffees later, he arrived in the squad room. Fin and Munch were at their desks, Olivia and Eckerson were standing at the window watching the snow fall.

"Finally, Elliot! What took you so long? It's almost like you had to slog through a blizzard or something."

"John, just because I brought breakfast doesn't mean you're gonna get breakfast."

Their barbs caught Olivia and Eckerson's attention, bringing them away from the window, toward the coffee and pastry. Before Olivia could take her cup, Elliot grabbed her arm, pulling her aside. "I'm sorry about last night. I was being stupid. Are we okay?"

She seemed surprised, as if unable to remember why he should be apologizing to her. He wondered what she could have been talking about with Eckerson to make her forget that they'd clashed. He didn't have long to think about it as rekindled anger flickered in her eyes. She stared at him for a moment, as if making sure he was being sincere before accepting his apology. "Yeah. Just don't ever do that to me again."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "I won't." They stood for a moment, silently measuring each other up. Elliot realized, and not for the first time, that he could pinpoint the exact moment when her anger had completely dissipated and it was safe to crack a joke. "Liv, I brought you donuts. If that doesn't say I'm sorry, I don't know what does."

She didn't miss a beat. "You're only forgiven if a couple of them are chocolate frosted."

As the detectives and Marshal settled down to breakfast, Cragen emerged from his office, rubbing his eyes. "Glad to see you're all up already." He picked up the last coffee and turned to the board, gazing at the pictures of the three missing girls. Elliot could feel his disappointment. With the snow so bad, they were going to be seriously delayed in their investigation. Cragen remarked, "I don't suppose anyone has a snowplow parked outside?"

"Andy, your Suburban's got four-wheel drive, right?" She continued before he could reply. "Well, we were going to Fordham to talk to Marina Vasquez's roommate, and Melissa Carpenter's mother lives on 71st and Columbus. That's just a few blocks, so four of us could go and take care of that."

Fin, Elliot and Eckerson all looked at Cragen, whose face had suddenly gotten a little brighter. "You heard the lady. Get going."

"So you're gonna make us earn our overtime this week, Cap?" Elliot complained half-heartedly.

"Don't whine. If the Mayor declares a state of emergency you get double overtime."

It took almost half an hour to clear the snow off of Eckerson's Suburban. The drive uptown took another half hour, more than twice as long as it would normally. By the time Eckerson pulled up to Melissa Carpenter's address, it was nearly 9. Olivia turned as Elliot got out of the truck. "We'll pick you up here around 11. I'll call if we're gonna be late."

"Right. " He trudged into the apartment building behind Fin.

Arriving at the correct apartment, Fin knocked on the door, which was opened by a smiling, somewhat disheveled woman. "Are you Lois Carpenter?"

"Yes." She glanced at their badges. "But I didn't call you."

"I'm Det. Tutuola, this is Det. Stabler and we're here to talk to you about your daughter, Melissa."

Her response was oddly cheerful. "Oh, right, have you found her then?"

"No, but we're trying and we just wanna ask you a few questions."

"Oh, come right in." She led them into a spacious apartment. Elliot noted a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose on the kitchen counter. She indicated the couch, asking, "Can I get you boys anything to drink?"

"No, I think we're all set," Elliot answered for both Fin and himself. They exchanged a look as Lois Carpenter flopped into the chair across from them. Taking out his notebook, Elliot asked, "Could you tell us when you last saw your daughter, Mrs. Carpenter?"

"Please, call me Lois." She made a sweeping gesture with her arm that she might have intended to be graceful. Elliot found himself leaning forward slightly, preparing to catch her should she fall out of her chair. "She went out on Friday night, said she was going on a date. When she didn't come home that night I just assumed she'd gotten lucky."

"You last saw your daughter on Friday, but you didn't file a Missing Persons report until Monday?" Elliot tried to keep the incredulity out of his tone. He sure as hell would let one of his daughters disappear for the weekend without a damn good explanation.

Lois didn't seem to share his concern. "What can I say, she likes to party. She stays with friends fairly often on weekends. I got a little worried when she didn't call, but I didn't see a problem until she still hadn't come home or called on Monday."

Before Elliot could point out some of the things wrong with Lois's statement, Fin took up the questioning. "You said she had a date on Friday night. You got a name for this boyfriend?"

"I've never met him, but she talks about him incessantly. His name is Les. I don't know his last name, but I know he has a few classes with Melissa."

"Do you have the names of any of Melissa's friends that may have seen her over the weekend?"

"She doesn't tell me that kind of stuff. All I know is that she sometimes stays with friends on campus when she's been out all night. She doesn't bring them back here. I don't think college students think it's cool to hang out with mom."

Elliot stopped himself from making a rude remark about why Melissa didn't want to 'hang out with mom' as Fin asked, "What about Melissa's father? Does he live here?"

"No, she hasn't talked to him unless she's been playing with a Ouija board. Her father's been dead since she was 8. The stupid drunk drove himself into a tree in Connecticut on his way home from golfing. I always told him that he'd die on the links, but it turns out I was only half-right, since he really died of the drinks." She laughed uproariously, once again coming dangerously close to tipping out of her chair.

Fin and Elliot chose the same moment to stand. "Could we have a look at Melissa's room, see if she has an address book or something with her friends numbers on it?"

"Of course." She pointed down the hall. "Second door on the left. Or the right. It's the door that's not the bathroom."

The search was fruitless. Elliot was particularly unnerved by the lack of any personal photos, notes, anything. "It's almost like she doesn't even live here."

"Maybe she just doesn't like bein' around mom too much."

Elliot smiled as they walked back to the living room. He noted that the bottle of vodka had moved to the coffee table, along with a tube of frozen, concentrated orange juice. Seeing his look, Lois said smilingly, "It works better than ice!"

He handed her a business card, saying, "If you remember anything else, please let us know."

She trailed after them, hanging on the door as she leaned into the hallway, watching them leave. "Glad you could stop by. Good luck finding Melissa!"

In the elevator, Fin was the first to speak. "She didn't seem too worried that her daughter's missin', did she?"

"We didn't tell he where we think her daughter is. Anyway, I don't think that lady would be too worried if she fell and cracked her skull right now."

Fin laughed as they exited the building. "That didn't take too long. It's only 9:30. What time are we supposed to be meetin' Olivia and Eckerson?"

"Not til 11." He looked for somewhere they could wait. "There's a Starbucks across the street."

"Shit, I'll stand in a dumpster if it gets me outta this snow."

They made their way across the deserted street into the nearly deserted coffee shop. While Fin ordered, Elliot called home. The answering machine picked up. He sighed as the message played, then after the beep said, "Hi, it's me. I guess you guys are all out playing in the snow. Have a cup of cocoa for me. Love you all, bye." He hung up feeling unfulfilled. He'd learned not to end his messages with 'see you soon' anymore. It just created a lot of false hope. He considered Lois Carpenter for a moment. He could hardly pass judgment on her parenting skills when he conducted half the conversations he had with his own kids over the phone.

Dialing again, he waited for Munch to pick up. He wasn't disappointed. "Munch. What?"

"John, it's Elliot. I need you to see if you can track down someone named Les who goes to NYU. Probably a junior since he's in Carpenter's classes."

"Does Les have a last name?"

"Probably. I'll let you track it down." Elliot grinned as he thought of Munch's reaction.

"Gee, thanks. Anything else?"

"Yeah, why are you in such a rotten mood?"

"My lovely US Marshal partner is not coming in today due to the inclement weather. You're probably thinking that this would make me happy, and it will as soon as I get over the indignity of the chewing out she gave me for waking her."

"Hey, Healey needs all the beauty sleep she can get."

"Healey needs a frontal lobotomy. Or maybe just a procedure to remove the speech center of her brain. I'll try to find Les for you. Have fun playing in the snow."

"Yeah, John. Thanks." He hung up as Fin walked over with two cups. "Munch is looking for Les for us."

"I'm sure he appreciates that needle in a haystack. At least it'll keep him busy."

They sat quietly drinking their coffee and discussing the case until they saw Eckerson's Suburban pull up just before 11. "Hope they had better luck than we did. Think we should get coffee for them?"

"Nah. I think they're coming in. I'm not paying for Eckerson's anyway."

Fin looked at him critically. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"I don't know." Elliot watched as Eckerson crossed the street with Olivia. "I just...do."


	20. Chapter 19

Olivia and I are alone in the car, and we are once again not talking. We left Stabler and Fin at Melissa Carpenter's building a few minutes ago, and, with them gone, I thought we might have a nice conversation, but she just started staring out the window. We must have exhausted all our small talk about the snow back at her precinct. It's almost like telling me she wanted to talk relieved her of any burden to actually talk until we get to the end of the case.

I'm still a little shocked that she admitted that much, wanting to discuss our relationship. Or inability to have a relationship. I guess catching her having a sex dream backed her into a corner on that one. Considering the circumstances, I decide that this has been a pretty good morning. Not only is Olivia admitting she may still feel something for me, she's having dirty dreams about me.

I think back on our little encounter in the crib. Waking up and seeing her in the bed next to me had made me feel like my birthday had come early, but watching her dream about me? I think I died and went to heaven for a minute or two. I hadn't wanted to wake her up when I heard her say my name; I'd really just wanted to touch her. Her voice was so throaty, sexy, the same way she always sounds in bed. It was such a turn-on. I just wanted to recapture that feeling of being with her physically, if only for a moment. I'm glad she's looking out the window right now, because she'd probably know exactly what I'm smiling about if she were looking at me. All these years, and she still knows what each of my expressions means. No one has ever been able to read me the way she can.

The wheel suddenly pulls to the right and it's all I can do to avoid a snow-covered lump I can only assume is parked car. She jumps slightly, saying, "Are you just making sure I'm still awake?"

I only nod, keeping my eyes on the road. I hate driving in the snow. Even with four-wheel drive, the tires slip and it's hard to steer. With the snow gusting outside, I can barely make out where I'm going. Normally, this kind of danger gets me excited, but there's something about the potential loss of control when I'm driving in snow that just makes me nervous. I was in a car accident in a snowstorm when I was younger, and all I know is that if you start to skid and slide on a surface made of tiny ice crystals, there's nothing you can really do but hope there's more resistance than inertia in your favor. I probably would have refused to go out at all if anyone but Olivia had suggested it. That particular equation is all inertia at the moment.

We arrive at Fordham with no further incident, and, after slogging through the snow to talk with Marina Vasquez's roommate, find that she has nothing new to offer us. Her story is surprisingly similar to Cassie's – went out, got separated, roommate never came home. We don't tell her where we think her missing friend might be. She seems concerned enough as it is.

With the driving conditions so poor, it takes us almost fifteen minutes to get back to the block where we left Stabler and Fin. I almost wish it had taken longer. She kept glancing at me the whole ride back, like she wanted to say something and caught herself at the last second each time. She might have let it slip if we hadn't arrived when we did. Of course, we could have made it half-way across the country before she said whatever she was trying to get out. It might not even be about us, which is what I really want to hear; it might just be a theory she's developing about the case. At least the silence hasn't been uncomfortable.

As we pull up outside Carpenter's building, she points across the street. "Looks like Elliot and Fin are taking a coffee break. We might as well join them and compare notes." She gets out of my car almost before I've parked. I take a moment to turn off the engine and lights, expecting her to disappear across the street, but she stands outside my door. She could have been inside by now, but she's waiting for me, snowflakes catching on her hair and eyelashes. It's not a huge gesture, but everything feels so significant now, knowing she wants me again. Or may want me. This new uncertainty is unbelievably unsettling. In my mind, I'm pulling her against me and kissing her as violins crescendo in the background; in reality, we're crossing a snowy street on our way into a Starbucks. Only in New York could the streets close but the coffee shops stay open. She gives me a little smile as I open the door for her. "Such a gentleman."

I'm about to smile back and make a joke, but Stabler is giving me a sobering glare and I hold my tongue. We go over to the two detectives and Olivia sits next to Stabler, asking, "Did you two get anything on Carpenter?" I'm reminded that I'm the outsider as I pull a wooden chair into the small circle of their cushy purple velvet ones. None of them seem to notice.

Stabler answers her question, "Just that she was out with some guy named Les on Friday night and mom enjoys the occasional cocktail. She was even nice enough to offer us one."

"It's not even noon yet." She smiles humorlessly. She's probably remembering her experience with her own mother's drinking. I wonder if Stabler doesn't know better or is just being insensitive.

I tug gently on Olivia's sleeve, asking, "Can I get you a coffee or something?"

"Yeah, you know what I like." I smile in acknowledgment, noting Stabler's renewed glare, as I walk over to the counter. I get her a triple tall 2 latte, hoping I'm not overestimating my memory for detail. I bring our coffees back to our seats. She takes a sip and smiles. "Thanks." Before I get too confident of her attention, she points to the muffin on the table. "Whose is that?"

"Mine," Stabler answers.

"Oh, good." She promptly grabs it and starts eating. He just looks at her and shakes his head, as if he's used to having things like this happen. I hide my frown by taking a sip of coffee. My sisters used to do the same thing to me, but I certainly never looked back at them like he's looking at her. She either doesn't notice or doesn't think anything of it.

Fin turns to me and asks, "You two get anything on Marina Vasquez?"

"Only that she went out on Friday night and didn't come home. The roommate got nervous when she hadn't seen her by Sunday and filed the Missing Persons report."

"Yeah, Munch is followin' up on Carpenter's mystery boyfriend, but he ain't gonna find anything with nothin' but a first name."

"Maybe he'll get lucky." I'm glad Fin is talking to me without awkwardness. I think he's the only one in the circle who doesn't hate me or feel the influence of any heavy baggage. I can only imagine how Stabler might lord this little bit of trivial information about our potential vic over me, like it's a huge break in the case. He's still glaring at me, but at least he isn't saying anything.

Fin continues, "Munch, lucky? Please. He's got Healey for the rest of the case. But at least she won't be around today."

"Really? She called out?" It's news to me. Healey isn't the type to shirk work, especially on a high-profile investigation like this.

Stabler fills in the rest. "From what Munch said, he called her cell to find out where she was and she chewed him out for waking her up. Do all you Marshals have such fine work ethic?"

I ignore the jab, still wondering about Healey, but Olivia doesn't. "Andy slept at the station and is out in the snow doing the legwork just like you, El."

He's about to reply when his phone rings. "Stabler…No, nothing new since we talked to Munch, Cap'n…Yeah, we'll be back as soon as possible." He turns to us. "Cap says we've got another note."

There's an instant stifling oppression in the coffee house. Olivia is the first to speak. "Another body, you mean."

I take her hand and pull her out of the chair. "We don't know that yet." She looks into my eyes, and I know there's nothing I can say or do to change her mind or make her feel better. We all walk back across the snowy street to my car and drive back to the precinct.


	21. Chapter 20

John Munch stood staring out the window in the SVU squad room. He'd spent almost an hour on the phone with different administrative offices at NYU trying to track down 'Les,' and every office that hadn't been closed due to the weather had given him the same infuriating response. They needed a full name to do any kind of search. They obviously didn't appreciate his position. If he didn't have a full name to work with, why should they?

Standing at the window, watching the snow fall, John tried to crush down the cynicism that seemed to be plaguing him more than usual. There was something about the case that made him believe the worst about everything. It felt exactly like the last time they'd dealt with Paige. They hadn't come up with any real leads that time either. They had a new note from Paige, but that just meant another body.

John was a little disappointed that Cragen had sent the note directly to the crime lab without opening it, but he understood his reasons. Still, if it were anything like the last one they'd received by courier, it would be full of clues just waiting to be deciphered. Paige was consistent with his riddles, but the notes he'd sent to SVU the first time around were slightly less complex than the one John had figured out the previous day. As much as he knew the rest of the squad was dreading this new note, John had to admit that he was almost looking forward to it. He liked being the one who figured out what they were looking for, what Paige wanted them to find.

Making sense of Paige's notes also gave John the one thing he needed to maintain above all else – the intellectual edge in the squad. As much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to feel older every day. There were some things he just couldn't do anymore. A detective that couldn't chase a fleeing perp or interrogate the hell out of somebody on a daily basis had to have something else going for him. John had plenty of experience, but each member of the squad had seen enough to match him in that department. His only advantage was his sharp intelligence. He relished his role as the brain of the group.

John smiled to himself at the comparison, turning back to his desk as he heard the approaching voices of his co-workers. As a warm-up for the thinking he would have to do once the note came back, he constructed a cheesy metaphor. If he were the brain, Elliot and Fin were the muscle and Olivia was the heart, although that was technically a muscle too. Eckerson and Healey were just zits, temporary annoyances that would be gone soon. Having the feds around made him nervous.

He sat down just as the Fin, Elliot, Olivia and Eckerson walked into the room. "I hope you all thought of me cooped up inside while you were playing in the snow."

"Shut up, John or you're not gettin' the burger we brought back for you."

"Ah, thank you. You know, I'm eating so many of these things lately that I fear they're doing harm to my wit." John waited for someone to get his allusion; he was thoroughly satisfied when no one did.

Fin gave him a surly, "Whatever," as he took off his coat.

As Elliot sat down with his own burger, he gestured to the board. "I thought there was a new note."

"It's at the crime lab. They should be faxing a copy over to us sometime soon." John scowled as he removed the top bun of his burger and saw red. No one ever bothered to remember that he didn't like ketchup.

Elliot must have assumed he was scowling about the fact that they didn't have the note. "Why didn't you just open it here and make a copy?"

"Because we're looking for an accomplice and I'd hate to think we destroyed his fingerprints when we tore the envelope open." John hadn't meant his tone to be so harsh, but he thought the reason should have been obvious. He was about to apologize, but saw that Elliot had been distracted, staring dangerously across his desk at Olivia and Eckerson, who were eating at her desk. John decided it must be partner-envy; personally, he envied anyone who didn't have Healey as a partner. At least she hadn't darkened the doorway today.

Elliot suddenly stood and strode into Cragen's office without knocking. John looked over his desk at Fin, saying, "I guess he wants to find out what's taking the crime lab so long." Fin didn't reply, but merely shook his head. There was obviously something going on that John wasn't privy to.

Five minutes later, Cragen suddenly emerged from his office, followed by a sullen Elliot. "Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but the crime lab just faxed Paige's note back to us. No new prints, but they found Paige's on it." Everyone's food was forgotten as they read the note he taped to the board.

_Mes Cygnes, _

_I hope you got my last note. Right now there are five positions and all are correct, though one has yet to be technically filled._

_Bon chance et Dosvedanya,_

_T._

John read the note four times before realizing that it wasn't about to yield the easy answers the first one had. If he were honest with himself, he'd gotten lucky with that one, even if it had taken some intellectual maneuvering to put the clues together. This note just looked like a collection of gibberish. He reasoned through what he was getting from it. The changing languages bothered him most. 'Mes cygnes' and 'bon chance' were French. 'Dosvedanya' was Russian. He stared at the floor, trying to decide what it could mean. A conversation had already started around him.

"'Dosvedanya' is good-bye, right?" Fin asked.

"Yeah," Olivia said. "'Bon chance' is good luck. And I know 'mes' is my, but what's 'cygnes'?"

"Swans." John, along with everyone else, turned to look at Eckerson.

"So you speak French now?" Elliot was still scowling at the Marshal.

"No. But I know a baby swan is a cygnet, so it stands to reason that 'cygnes' is French for swan. Or swans."

Elliot didn't let it go. "How come you know that?"

Eckerson looked down at the floor, mumbling something unintelligible.

Elliot pushed further. "Huh? I didn't quite catch that."

"I said my niece has this book about baby animals that she had me read to her when I was over at my sister's last weekend. All right?"

As amusing as the Marshal's uneasiness was to watch, John found his attention drawn to Olivia. She was watching Eckerson intently, with a strange, almost sad expression. Elliot looked as if he were about to say something more, but suddenly stopped. There was definitely something going on with the three of them. From the little John had heard about Olivia and Eckerson's relationship, it had been all physical and she had ended it. John decided there had to be a lot of tension building up, and Elliot was just the first of them to show it. The case certainly couldn't be helping matters.

Cragen either didn't see the problem or was ignoring it. He had already moved on. "Right, so this time instead of stars we're swans. But, there, at the bottom, why is 'good luck' in French and 'goodbye' in Russian?"

John had a sudden revelation. "Imperial Russia was Francophilic. Maybe this is like the library clue and he's pointing us toward another exhibit."

"So you're hittin' every literary and historic thing in the city this month?"

"No, I'm merely suggesting that there might be some connection." John didn't let his partner's dig affect him. He was sure he was right.

Cragen seemed to agree. "Check around." Everyone turned to the computers. After half an hour of finding nothing, John felt a hell of a lot less confident in his assessment of the note. He noticed that Olivia and Fin had already gone back to staring at it. Elliot was still at his computer, using the pretense of staring at his screen to stare at Eckerson, who, in turn, appeared to be staring at Olivia's ass. Cragen was staring into his coffee cup. John was bothered by all the staring going on in the squad room. There was no action, just blank stares. He continued his fruitless Internet searches, trying not to give in to the temptation to join them, thereby admitting he had been wrong.

"The last note!" Olivia murmured almost inaudibly. She walked to the board, stabbing her finger into it. "The clue is in the last note. Look." She pointed at Paige's previous communiqué. "He says 'it's time for us to dance.' Put that together with five positions. He's talking about ballet."

Still sitting behind his computer, John hit a few keys and waited for the screen to come up. "New York City Ballet, performing _Swan Lake_ through the end of February. I guess that's our Russian connection."

Cragen jumped on the theory. "Right, I want all of you at Lincoln Center ASAP. I'll give a heads up to the precinct cops and call Warner to have her meet you there."

"Don't you think that's a little premature, Cap? I mean, we don't even know if that's the right answer, much less is we're gonna find a body."

"All right, Elliot. You stay here and sort through the calls from the tip-line, Munch, you go to Lincoln Center."

"Cap, that's not what I…"

"You have your assignments. Go." Cragen went into his office without another word. Elliot ignored everybody as they walked out.

As John waited for the elevator, he was glad he was alone. Olivia and Eckerson had already gone down to the car and he had barely heard Fin as he said, "I'm gonna stop in the bathroom. I'll meet you in the car." He felt an odd combination of relief and frustration. They'd solved the clues, and he was sure they had, despite Elliot's misgivings, but he, John, hadn't contributed anything. He hadn't done his job, hadn't filled his role. The lonely prospect of actual retirement loomed like a shadow over him as he stepped into the elevator, pulling down his hat as far as it would go.

The lobby appeared deserted, but just as John was about to go out to Eckerson's car, he heard Olivia's voice. He moved toward the door and spotted her, standing in the foyer, awfully close to Eckerson.

"We were right there. We were across the fucking street from Lincoln Center and we could've seen the drop. We could've seen the accomplice. We…I don't even know what we could have done."

"Liv, it's not your fault. We didn't know about the note until after we'd left Fordham, and we didn't even figure it out until just now. The vic was dead long before Paige or his crony dropped her. Hell, we don't even know where the body's gonna be. Lincoln Center's a big place."

"Yeah."

He lifted her chin and looked her in the eye. "Hey, don't be mad about this. Be mad that I'm thinking about what you'd look like in a tutu."

John coughed as he tried to hide a laugh, drawing Olivia and Eckerson's attention. She immediately flushed, asking, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Just got here. Fin had to stop in the little boys' room, but he should be down momentarily." The three stood in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. John decided to break it. "So, Olivia, nice pick up on the ballet clue."

"Yeah, and I thought those lessons my mother forced me to take would never pay off."

"What, you never wanted to be a prima ballerina?"

"No."

"You probably never asked for a pony for Christmas either."

Fin arrived before Olivia could respond, and the four walked out of the precinct into the snow. John was just able to hear Olivia's warning to Eckerson over the noise of the wind. "If you don't stop imagining me in a tutu, you're walking to Lincoln Center."


	22. Chapter 21

A/N: I'm sorry about the long wait for the update. I was very busy before the holidays and very sick after them. Then I just got lazy. I did learn two valuable lessons – 1) I cannot write and get my Christmas shopping/wrapping/baking done at the same time and 2) I cannot write when I have pneumonia. As neither of these circumstances is likely to occur in the near future (and #2 will hopefully never occur EVER again), the story should be back on track. I'm sorry if the chapter is stilted or forced – I think I might be a little out of practice.

Walking into the squad room after returning from his fruitless interview with Lois Carpenter, Elliot felt none of the relief he usually experienced returning to his familiar milieu. It was quieter than usual; voices were subdued, even the phones seemed muted. The evidence board held only questions, no connections and no answers. He felt upset and thoroughly frustrated. Nothing they did seemed to be bringing them any closer to Paige and his remaining victims. Their only new link, the note that had called them back, was conspicuously absent. He rubbed his fists hard against his eyes, attempting to clear the exhaustion and defeat that were threatening to overtake him.

His mood darkened as he sat down at his desk and glimpsed his family photos. He checked his watch perfunctorily, already knowing that three hours had passed since he had left his message at home. This neglect had been happening more often lately, and he could see no way to make it better. If he called again, Kathy would accuse him of keeping tabs on them or being paranoid; if he waited for them to call, he might have to wait for hours. He wondered when the distance between himself and his family had grown nearly insurmountable. It was as if he had walked into dinner one night and encountered a group of strangers, people who would go on with their lives regardless of his presence or absence. He sighed and unwrapped the burger he had picked up for lunch. Turning to Munch, he pointed at the board and said, "I thought there was a new note."

"It's at the crime lab. They should be faxing a copy over to us sometime soon."

Elliot didn't particularly like the scowl that followed the remark, and asked sarcastically, "Why didn't you just open it here and make a copy?"

He ignored Munch's equally sarcastic reply and turned back to his food. As his gaze swept over his desk, his attention became fixed on his photos once again. He suddenly realized that they were at least three years out of date. Tearing his eyes away from the faces he knew so well, yet barely knew at all, he was confronted with another face he hadn't felt very close to in the past day.

Olivia was sitting at her desk, eating with Eckerson. She seemed calm, but even now there was something about her demeanor that worried Elliot. He hadn't paid much attention to her at the previous day's crime scene, but he'd seen the way she'd acted around the body. She'd been openly nervous, troubled. He could only imagine the inner torture she was putting herself through. He didn't want to see her that upset again. Even if there were no way for him fill the void missing his family was creating, he could certainly do something to make his partner's life a little easier.

Making a decision, he abruptly stood and walked into Cragen's office, shutting the door carefully behind him. "You got a minute, Cap'n?"

"Yeah, sure." Cragen motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Elliot sat, but found that he hadn't quite decided how he wanted to proceed. "Is there something you wanna talk about?" Cragen prompted.

Elliot blinked hard before saying, "I don't think you should send Olivia to the scene when we find out what the note says."

"Why not?" Cragen was incredulous, as if he expected a joke to be forthcoming.

Elliot plowed onward, wondering what had pushed him to such a spontaneous admission. "Cap, you didn't see her when we found the last body. She was pretty upset. I mean, she covered it well, you know Liv, but…it was there. I'm worried about her."

"Has she said something to you?"

"No. But I know her, and I just think that she…I don't think it'd be good for her to see another body so soon. You know how personally she's taking this case…" He trailed off as he heard the emotion creeping into his voice.

"Elliot, I know you're worried about Olivia. I'm worried too, about both of you, in fact. But you should know that I can't take her off this case unless she asks me to or she does something stupid. Do you really think either of those things are gonna happen?"

Elliot looked down, picking at the wood of Cragen's desk. "No. I just…I don't want her to get hurt. I want her to be safe."

Cragen's eyes got wider for a moment. "So that's what this is really about."

"What?"

"Eckerson."

"I'm not jealous of him," Elliot responded defensively. He knew it was only a half-truth. Of course he was jealous; Eckerson was taking his place and maybe more. He would like nothing better than to see the Marshal's back as he walked out of the precinct forever, but none of that had anything to do with his present concern for Olivia. He had come to Cragen to ask him to protect his partner where he, Elliot, could not. "I don't care about Eckerson. Let them both stay at the station. Just please don't send Olivia out there to find another dead body that she thinks is her fault!"

Cragen didn't seem to sense Elliot's selfless motivation. "Look, we'll catch Paige and Eckerson'll be gone. Things will go back to normal soon enough. Just bear with it for a couple more days."

"This isn't about me and Eckerson. It's about Olivia." Elliot struggled to keep the desperation from his tone. He suddenly felt as if he were letting down all the people he loved.

"I can't pull her off this case. I need all of you out there to catch Paige. "

"Do you even care what this is doing to her?"

Elliot knew he'd gone too far as Cragen stiffened, altering his tone from conversational to authoritarian. "Det. Benson hasn't given me any indication that she isn't fully capable of dealing with this case. In fact, the only person I'd consider pulling right now is you, Detective."

"Captain, that's not…"

"You're damn right it's fair. Have I ever given any of you a reason to think I don't put your safety and welfare first?" Elliot suddenly felt very small. Cragen softened slightly. "Elliot, this isn't like you. I know you're not gonna like this, but maybe you should consider talking to someone."

He chose not to understand Cragen's meaning. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"You know what I mean."

"A trip to the department shrink?"

The fax machine beeped, causing Cragen to turn away before replying. His back was still to Elliot when he began speaking. "I just think this case may be getting to you as much as you think it's getting to Olivia. What's the doc call that, projection? Whatever. If you don't want to talk to someone, I can only ask you to leave everything you just said in here." He changed tack before Elliot could reply. "Looks like we've got Paige's note back."

An hour later, Elliot found himself sitting alone in the squad room, flipping through a pile of reports from the tip line that didn't really say anything. He felt betrayed. Cragen had sidelined him. True, he hadn't exactly kept his temper during the meeting, hadn't left it all in the office as the captain had requested, but it was still no reason to keep him out of the field.

The ringing of the phone on his desk made him feel that the bell was sounding the end of detention. He had the brief premonition that it would be Olivia asking him to come to the scene and help them do interviews. He answered, "Stabler."

"Sounds like I don't need to ask how your day is going." He found his wife's sarcastic reply less than comforting.

"Kathy…sorry, I didn't sleep that great and I…it's good to talk to you…" He trailed off lamely, fighting to keep the disappointment and fatigue from his voice.

She seemed to sense his discomfort. They'd been having moments like this a lot lately, moments of awkward distance when they were left with nothing to say to each other. At least that was how Elliot felt; he couldn't ask Kathy if she felt the same. With all the time they spent apart, he felt as if he didn't even have the right to ask, marriage vows be damned.

"I would have called sooner, but we went to my mother's. The twins wanted to sled on the hill in her backyard."

"Well, I'm glad they had fun. Can I, uh, talk to the kids?" He felt as if he were asking a favor, a favor that relied on his wife's benevolence. As he spoke to each of his children, he realized that it had been over 24 hours since he'd had any contact with them. He was hit with the fact that they could have filed a Missing Persons report on him. It was nice just to talk with them for a few minutes, though. It provided a bright spot in a day full of frustration. He concluded the conversation with his son, "Okay, Dickie, I love you too. Can you put Mom back on?"

"So when are we gonna see you again?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, but he felt a fight looming.

He tried to answer neutrally. "I don't know. Soon, I hope."

"Well, I'm sure Olivia is taking good care of you."

And there it was. He had just started to feel better after having talked to the kids, and she had to throw that into the ring. "Jesus, Kathy, I'd be home right now if I could, but I can't because there's a psycho on the loose raping and killing girls."

"When will there NOT be a psycho killing and raping girls?" There was a pause as the question sunk in. She was right of course. There was always another case, another pervert, another night spent in the crib. Just as he felt himself falling, Kathy unexpectedly caught him by being the first to speak, the first to apologize. "I'm sorry, Elliot. I just wish you were here."

He sighed, relieved that the brief argument was over. "Yeah, me too."

"Come home soon. I love you."

"I love you, too. And I'll be home as soon as I possibly can. Bye." He hung up, feeing slightly better than he had before the call. He smiled to himself as he looked at his family photos this time, making a mental note to get some more recent pictures for his desk.

"Feeling a little better?" Cragen was sitting across from him, behind Olivia's desk.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about earlier, Cap. I was outta line."

"Yeah, you were, but don't worry about it." As he paused, Elliot looked at him expectantly. Cragen seemed to get his hint. "You know, I didn't keep you back to punish you. I just thought you might need some time to cool off. You were still pretty amped when we were talking about that note."

Elliot couldn't resist a slight dig. "Well, threatening me with the shrink tends to do that."

"I still say it wouldn't hurt, but I'm not ordering you." They both glanced at the phone on Elliot's desk as it began to ring. "And I'm still here if you need to blow off some more stream."

"Thanks, Cap." Cragen smiled and began reexamining the evidence board as Elliot picked up the phone. "Stabler."

The caller sounded flustered. "Det. Stabler? Wow, I've been trying to reach you for, like, an hour. My mother gave me the wrong number, surprise, surprise, and I had to call directory assistance and then the NYPD main switchboard to get a hold of you."

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Melissa Carpenter. You spoke to my mother this morning."

"Melissa Carpenter?" Elliot beckoned Cragen, who had turned at the sound of one of their potential victims' names. "Are you aware that you've been reported missing since Monday?"

She sighed deeply. "Am I in trouble?"

"With us? No. With your mother? Well, that's between you two. We would like an explanation, though."

"Well, since you really were looking for me, I guess I owe you that much…"

Fifteen minutes later, Elliot sat down in Cragen's office, where the captain had retreated after cheerfully removing Melissa Carpenter's picture from the board. "So tell me the good news."

Elliot couldn't help but smile. "She moved to Massachusetts to establish residency. Turns out that she and Les want to get married in a few months."

"She wants to elope in Massachusetts? I don't get it. Is that where her boyfriend's family is from?"

"Well, as it turns out, Les is not Lester but Leslie."

Cragen caught on and filled in the rest. "And barring any constitutional finagling, gay marriage is legal in Massachusetts as of May. Well, I'm just glad she's safe."

"Yeah."

"I almost feel like we got a freebie on this one."

"Uh-huh."

"Something still bothering you?"

"It's just…her mom had no idea. Melissa had this whole life that her mother didn't know anything about. And it wasn't even something like drugs or gambling that she was hiding. It just makes you think, y'know?"

"I'll send you home tonight if that's what you want, Elliot."

He looked up, surprised that Cragen had nailed his source of discontent so easily. "We're in the middle of a case. I can't just leave. I won't." He didn't add that he really wanted to.

"Consider it in lieu of being shrunk. Go home, spend some time with your family, get some sleep, come in fresh tomorrow."

"I don't feel right about it."

"No one is gonna fault you for this. It's my order anyway." Elliot stood resignedly, "And Elliot? There'll be a squad car parked outside your house while you're there. An unmarked one so Kathy and the kids don't worry. You're not the only concerned dad here."

Elliot didn't argue any more, too thankful for the respite to risk losing it. "I'll give Olivia a call to tell her the good news, then I'll head out."

"See you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Cap'n." Elliot tried to let his relief overwhelm the feeling that he was deserting his friends. He was only partially successful.

A/N pt. 2 – Just to remind everyone, the timeline of this story is Feb. 2004. So no worries, Massachusetts did indeed begin allowing gay marriage in May 2004.


	23. Chapter 22

Olivia stood on the snowy sidewalk at the entrance of the parking garage on 62nd St. at Lincoln Center. The New York State Theater cast an afternoon shadow over the taped-off driveway. She inhaled, feeling as if the temperature of the winter air matched the chill she felt inside. Techs from CSU were photographing the scene, keeping the detectives behind the line until they had documented the footprints and tire tracks left by whoever had dropped the body. A white sheet covered a lump in the snow. Olivia fingered the three fliers in her pocket that bore the pictures of three missing girls; she felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold as she wondered which one would be moved from the column labeled 'potential victims' to the one tagged 'victims' on their evidence board.

It was strange to think that a simple move of six inches indicated the difference between life and death, hope and despair. No, not despair. Nothing. There was really nothing left for any of their girls if they turned up in dumpsters and under sheets in parking garages. Olivia actively clung to the crumb of possibility that the body would turn out to be someone else's problem as she once again cursed the luck and timing that had led them within a block of the scene without any results.

She was staring intently at the white lump a mere ten yards away, trying to see through the sheet to the victim's face when a hand brushed her back, causing her to jump slightly. She knew who it was without looking. "Jesus, Andy, don't do that."

"Sorry. The precinct cops want to talk to us." She reluctantly turned away from her futile contemplation. Not seeing the victim's face was probably a blessing anyway; it allowed Olivia a few more minutes to hope that there'd been a mistake and this wasn't a victim of Paige. Different detectives would catch the case and SVU would be sent back to the 1-6 to reevaluate the clues in the note.

The thought made her pause. No matter who had to solve the case, there was still a dead girl in the snow. If she weren't one of their girls, she'd be on someone else's missing persons list. Another family would be losing a daughter, sister, friend. And Paige would have another body to his name once they figured out the real meaning of the note. Three was always smaller than four, no matter who added up the totals.

Olivia's gaze drifted back to the scene. They'd know the identity of the victim soon enough. She resigned herself to the fact that it was going to be Melissa Carpenter, Sarah Obertello or Marina Vasquez.

Andy had noticed that she had gone back to staring at the scene. "Are you coming?" His eyes reflected genuine concern; she was glad he wasn't smiling. She didn't think she could handle one of his kind, cocky, infuriating, sexy, friendly smiles right now.

As she followed him to a blue sedan where Munch and Fin were talking to an officer, she decided she was going to have to ask him to stop touching her. The intentionally accidental caresses were starting to get on her nerves. They were unprofessional, unnecessary and incredibly distracting. Every time he did it, she felt her focus shift to the spot he was touching, willing his hand to sink straight through her clothing to her skin. Unfortunately, telling him she wanted to talk about their relationship had not only encouraged rather than appeased him, but also forced her to think about some things she wasn't sure she was ready to consider. She blinked to clear her head. Between the case and Andy, it was getting harder and harder to do.

The precinct lieutenant began briefing them as soon as they were within earshot. "I had my people canvass the block and we've got two eyewitnesses to the drop, bodega manager and a nut vendor. We didn't take formal statements yet, figured you guys would want to talk to them first."

"Thanks, we appreciate that," Andy replied. The lieutenant nodded and walked over to a knot of uniforms, shooing them back to their squad cars or posts near the scene. Turning to Munch and Fin, Andy asked, "You want the nut vendor or the bodega manager?"

Munch tugged at the brim of his hat and sighed dramatically. "You're not really suggesting that the old man should be forced to stand out in the cold, now, are you?"

"Right. We'll meet you back here when the ME's done. In the mood for nuts, Liv?"

"Don't you have to be for this job?" She smiled despite herself.

He smiled back at her as they made their way down the block, causing that odd fluttering feeling to return. She was almost glad to get away from him for a moment as Warner's assistant, Craig Davis, waved her back to the tape. "Hey, Det. Benson. Just wanted to let you know that CSU should be done in a couple minutes, and we should be ready for you guys in ten."

"Thanks. You flying solo this time, Davis?"

"No, Doc's on the phone in the car." He pointed to a white SUV labeled 'Medical Examiner.' Dr. Warner sat in the front seat, gesticulating emphatically as she spoke into a cell phone. "Apparently the coroner's office doesn't want to come pick up the body until the roads are a little clearer."

"Right, we'll go talk to the witnesses, check back in with you later." She jogged down the sidewalk to catch Andy. "Ten minutes til the ME'll be ready for us."

"Plenty of time to talk to…" he looked down to consult his notepad, "Nikolai Manilov."

The nut vendor was standing behind his cart half a block away from the dumpsite, tightly wrapped in a long coat and several scarves. Olivia smiled as she approached him, wanting to make the best impression possible. "Mr. Manilov? Hello, I'm Det. Benson, this is my partner Marshal Eckerson. We'd just like to ask you a few questions about what you saw today."

The man answered in an Eastern European accent that she couldn't place, "I already tell the poleece what I see."

"Would you mind repeating it for us?"

He looked her up and down before speaking again, addressing himself exclusively to Olivia. "I see car een garage door. I theenk, he not gonna park there today, but then I see person get out. Pull beeg bag from back door and leave eet een snow. Then get back een car and leave. That all I see. Your poleece come not ten meenutes later."

"Can you describe the man you saw drop the body?"

"Was no man. Was wooman, great beeg wooman een long coat, weeth hood that hides face."

"Okay, you said big…do you mean tall or fat?" Andy didn't even try to make himself sound politically correct. Olivia had noticed that he had stepped closer to her when the nut vendor was looking her over.

Manilov turned to Andy, eyeing him suspiciously, and continued addressing Olivia. "Tall, tall as him, and wide. Not fat. Same way that bear eez beeg but not fat."

She took up the questioning again. "And you're sure it was a woman?"

"Da, da. No man have heeps and ahss like that."

"You didn't see the face or hair, but you're sure it was a woman because you checked out her ass?" She asked with a slight smile, allowing herself to be distracted by the vendor's off-color candor.

"What can I say, I am ahss-man. Eez good for beezness. Ahss says much about wheech nuts you buy. Her ahss say two-dollar bag honey-roasted cashew. Your ass say no nuts for me thanks." Olivia felt Andy shift uncomfortably beside her, brushing her elbow. "Not to say you no have nice ass. Eez very…"

"Watch it, buddy," he suddenly interrupted.

"What, you no theenk she have nice ahss?"

"I think she's a police officer and you should show her a little more respect. Now, moving on. Could you tell what kind of car it was?"

"Was one of those beeg theengs, an SVU." The vendor, who had once again turned to Olivia, seemed to notice her smile at his unintentional mistake, and continued cheerily, "Yes, beeg SVU."

"Anything else about it? The color, maybe?"

"Ees blue. And eet have wood on sides."

Olivia suddenly felt encouraged as she wrote down the details. "Did you happen to catch the license plates?"

"I don't remember numbers, but plate was yellow, not the leeberty plate." He mimed the Statue of Liberty's pose, drawing another unintentional smile from her.

"Did you see which way it went when it left?"

"I theenk eet turn left on 10th."

"Thank you, Mr. Manilov. You've been very helpful." Olivia felt Andy tug her sleeve, pulling her back toward the crime scene almost before she'd finished speaking. When they were a safe distance away, she said, "You didn't have to be rude to that guy. He was trying to help us."

His voice was tight, almost as if he were angry but unwilling to show it. "Well, he didn't have to be rude to you."

She stopped, looking him critically in the face. "Are you jealous of a nut vendor?"

For the first time since they'd been partnered, Andy was the one who blushed. "I'm not jealous. I mean, how could he even see your ass under that coat? He didn't know what he was talking about." She could sense that he had meant the statement as a challenge. He wanted her to question him so he could compliment her without consequence.

She decided not to make it easy for him. He wasn't going to hide behind a witness if he wanted to tell her she had a nice ass. Giving herself a mental slap for her last thought, she pointed up the street, saying, "There's Munch and Fin. They must be done with the bodega manager."

Fin waved them over. "You get anything from the nut guy?"

Olivia thought she heard Andy murmur, 'Sexually harassed,' but shared only the relevant information. "He saw a woman take a bag out of a blue 'SVU' with wood panels and Jersey tags. It turned downtown on Amsterdam."

"A woman? A blue SVU?"

"A verb, maybe, Munch?"

He didn't miss a beat. "And I was afraid the cold would deaden your wit, Olivia."

"A blue SVU, huh? I could dump a gallon of paint on Munch if that helps our investigation," Fin added.

Munch shook his head, covering his heart with his hand. "Your words, how they wound me. We spoke to the bodega manager, said she saw a blue SUV pulling out of the garage driveway, but she figured it was just some lost shmuck making a u-turn. The good news is we might have video of the drop. CSU is getting the tape out of the outside ATM."

Before they could discuss the witnesses' statements further, Olivia felt a touch at her elbow. She brought her hand up, ready to slap Andy's hand away as she turned, but found Craig Davis instead. "We're ready for you guys now."

The three detectives and the Marshal crossed under the tape for the first time since arriving at the scene. Olivia felt the positive energy that had been building since taking the vendor's statement seeping into the ground with each step she took toward the body. Warner was crouched next to it (her, Olivia corrected, it's a her) making notes on her clipboard. "It looks about the same as the last one." Olivia could hear the unspoken 'I'm sorry' in the ME's voice.

Davis raised the sheet, revealing the girl's destroyed face. "Found her wallet with her. Name's…"

"Marina Vasquez," Olivia supplied, stepping back involuntarily. She mentally moved the flier from 'potential victims' to 'victims.' The flutter she felt in her stomach now was nothing like the one she'd felt earlier.

"How'd you know that?" Davis looked impressed.

"We have a list we're working from," she answered mechanically. She wondered if the drop site had been chosen for its proximity to Marina Vasquez's school.

Warner went through her report quickly. "Same as the last one with the cuts, scarf, nudity. Two big differences – there's no note with her and we might get lucky on DNA this time around."

"Doc, there's always been fluids," Munch said.

Warner held up the girl's hand, revealing her long, manicured fingernails. "Not like this. I've already taken samples. She took a chunk out of her attacker. Now, rumor has it you're looking for a second perp. Shall I go on?"

"There's something about Medical Examiners."

"Gee, thanks Munch."

Andy didn't get involved in the banter. Olivia could feel his eyes on her as he asked, "How long before you get results on that?"

"If I have them start it as soon as we get back with the samples, and I'll make sure they do, we should have the preliminary results in about six hours. Autopsy will be done well before then. When do you want me to call?"

"When you get the DNA results, thanks. I think we're all pretty clear on cause of death."

"Plus we'll have time for dinner before we hit the Morgue."

Olivia didn't hear any replies to Munch's comment as she stepped to the side to answer her cell phone.

"Hey, Liv."

"Hey." She hadn't had time to talk to Elliot before leaving the station, and was surprised that it hadn't bothered her until she heard his voice. "You sound like you're in a better mood."

"Yeah. Listen, I've got some good news for you. We found Melissa Carpenter. Paige didn't have her."

"Really? That's fantastic. Where was she?"

"Massachusetts. She and her girlfriend Les are planning to get married there in a few months."

Olivia almost laughed. The blood spots in the snow at her feet served to restrain her. Nevertheless, she felt a weight lifted. She could always count on her partner for that. "We should be back in a couple hours. Want us to grab dinner for you and the Captain?"

"I don't know about Cap, but I'm not even gonna be here. I'll be at home if you need me for anything. Night, Liv."

Despite his obvious desire to end the conversation, she quickly asked, "Cragen was angry enough at you to send you home?"

He sighed. "No, nothing like that. Although he did hang the department shrink over my head as encouragement to take the night off."

"Did something happen after we left?"

"Liv, don't worry about it. Everything's fine between me and Cragen, everything's fine at home. And just to give you a heads up, I've got a detail sitting on my house. No doubt you're getting one too."

"Right. Thanks, El."

"Gimmie a call if anything happens."

"I will. Have a good night."

"You too, Liv."

She hung up, wondering what Cragen could have done to induce Elliot to take the night off. A psych evaluation could certainly do the trick, but Cragen wouldn't hang that over anyone without a damn good reason. She caught the nail of her index finger in her teeth, wondering if she should have pushed him harder to talk.

Andy broke her reverie as he came up and looked at her questioningly. "What's going on?"

"Elliot's taking the night off. He was just calling to let me…us know."

"Oh. He okay?"

"Yeah. I think he just needs some time with his family. If there were anything wrong he'd have told me." Olivia was glad none of her SVU colleagues were around to hear her bold-faced lie. Elliot wouldn't just come out and tell her if something were wrong; she'd have to work him, interrogate him, beat him until he surrendered and told her what was really bothering him. He always volunteered just enough information to let her know that something was up, then made her put forth the effort to find out what it was. When they had first become close, she'd thought he was testing their partnership, their friendship, but she'd come to realize that he did it so she wouldn't be burdened with his problems. She shook her head, thinking, 'Men never understand that the things they do to protect you sometimes end up hurting you more.'

She looked up and saw the only other man who had ever shown such concern in protecting her, the only man who had hurt her more than Elliot ever could. Three months ago, she'd told Andy that she needed stability rather than insanity, but she was starting to think that it was really simplicity that she needed. The complexity of her professional life had to be balanced somehow.

Andy was speaking again. "Oh, he just wanted to tell you he was going home? You sounded kind of excited at first."

"Oh! Melissa Carpenter!" Olivia could hardly believe she'd almost forgotten to share the news. She beckoned to Munch and Fin to share it with them as well. "Elliot found her. She's okay, Paige never had her."

"Hey, that's great. So now we're only looking for one." Andy sighed. "That sounds terrible, doesn't it?"

"Not as terrible as things are about to sound." Munch pointed to a cab that had just arrived.

The passenger was leaning into the front window, but there was no mistaking the voice arguing with the driver. "I'm not paying you the extra waiting fee because all the waiting we did was your fault since you could have just taken a different street rather than following that damn plow even though plenty of streets are already clear."

The cabbie, apparently dazed by her sermon, waved her off as Andy called out, "Healey, I thought you weren't coming in today."

"Well, despite the fact that none of you bothered to call me and let me know another victim had been found, I did manage to find out and, since we have jurisdiction in this case, I thought it was important that I be here to look over the scene and make sure it wasn't being mishandled in any way. Eckerson, you and Benson go to the crime lab and sit on the ME until we get the autopsy and DNA and whatever else they somehow manage to find while these other two detectives and I interview people in the area to find out if they saw anything suspicious this morning."

Andy stepped in front of Olivia, like he had the night before. Unlike the incidental touches, she didn't mind this gesture. There was something about Healey that made her distinctly uncomfortable. He said, "You're not in charge here, Healey. The ME has already said she'll call us once the DNA results are in, and we've already interviewed the two eyewitnesses the precinct cops found."

"So you talked to only two eyewitness? Have you looked for anymore? What precinct are we in?"

Fin replied brusquely, "The 2-0."

"Well, I'll have to run a check and make sure they aren't under investigation for anything, but in the meantime, I'm going to do a sweep of the whole block to make sure your precinct cops didn't miss something major. Det. Munch, you're with me, as per your captain's orders."

As Healey stomped down the sidewalk, Munch reluctantly trailing after her, she passed the nut vendor, who called out, "Honey-roasted cashew! Only two dollar!"


	24. Chapter 23

I feel like my temperature started rising when we arrived at the crime scene earlier today. Watching Olivia stare at the body from behind the tape, enduring our interview with that damn nut vendor, hearing the tone of her voice as she talked to Stabler on the phone – it was all enough to make me feel as if I were about to spontaneously combust. It's no better here in the Technical Response Unit at One Police Plaza.

I breathe deeply, but the atmosphere in the video lab is no less repressively stifling than any other I've been in over the past few hours. I guess it doesn't matter anyway. I was too hot standing in a snowdrift at Lincoln Center, too hot in the car on the ride here with Fin demanding the heat be on full blast.

God, that stupid fucking nut vendor! I carefully focus my anger on him as if I don't know the real reason I'm all hot and bothered – I want Olivia so bad that I'm starting to have trouble thinking about anything else.

I try to think about how I was able to work with her three months ago. It probably had to do with the fact that she wasn't giving me any indication that we'd be stepping beyond the line marked 'professional courtesy.' Now everything has been flipped upside-down. I'm using every excuse possible to talk to her, stand close to her, touch her. In order of difficulty, I'd rate these as easy, harder, and dangerous but nerve-rackingly satisfying, respectively.

And she isn't exactly discouraging me. She looks at me like she's daring me to go further, then she pulls away like I've gone too far. I feel like she's teasing me, too. She let the nut vendor go on and on about her ass and all I could do was stand there, feeling the heat build. Anger, jealousy, desire – now I know why 'burning' and 'fiery' are such cliché emotional adjectives. Hell, by the time we got away from that damn vendor I was almost ready to skip the crime scene once-over and drag Olivia to the back seat of my truck.

I suddenly snap back to reality and find that the tech who's trying to clean up the ATM video has finally found something. I've forgotten his name, so I decide to call him Geek. He looks just like a pasty, bespectacled AV nerd should. He presses a few buttons and the black and white video appears on a larger monitor.

We can see the entire parking garage driveway, even if it is at an odd diagonal angle. The SUV pulls in, a big someone gets out and drags something out of the back seat, leaves it in the snow, then gets back in the truck, pulls out and drives away. We watch it again. And again.

The third time through, Olivia pokes me in the ribs, whispering, "It's a Grand Wagoneer. Just like you used to have, if it's really blue." I think she stepped a little closer to me as she said this. I'd noticed the make of the SUV the first time through the tape. The fact that our perp is driving a Jeep like I had back in the day is probably giving her the same feeling of disquiet it's giving me.

Geek apparently decides we've watched the tape enough times and pauses it halfway through the drop. Olivia cocks her head, squinting at the screen. "Can you tell if that's a man or a woman?"

"I think it's a man," Fin volunteers. "Kinda big to be a woman. It's hard to tell with that long coat, and the angle doesn't exactly help."

"You know these things are angled specifically to monitor security on the ATM, right?" Geeks asks in an oh-so-rhetorical tone.

"Naw, really? I thought they were there to catch people pickin' their noses while they took cash out."

Geek is clearly insulted by Fin's lack of deference toward the video. "I'm just saying that you shouldn't expect too much from it, because the camera wasn't designed to film your crime scene on the opposite side of the street."

"Right." Olivia waves her hand through the air, as if trying to clear the momentary tension. "It's just that one of our eyewitnesses was sure it was a woman."

I can't contain myself. "The nut/ass man? He just wanted a reason to check you out." She glances at me critically for a moment before leaning toward the monitor to further contemplate the gender of the dropper.

Geek smirks as he notices her proximity, looking at Olivia in a way I don't think I like. "Why would anyone need a reason?" Then he gooses her. With his eyes. If he'd actually goosed her he'd be splattered all over his keyboard, though I'm not sure if the splattering would have been done by me or her.

I realize that I may be reading into things a little too deeply as Olivia, seeming only a little taken aback, smiles politely before returning to a standing position. I still think Geek might need a clearer signal that he can neither look nor touch, so I jab my finger at the screen and lean threateningly into his personal space. "Why don't you focus on getting the plate on that car for us, Geek." He doesn't seem to enjoy my proximity the way he did Olivia's, and hunches over, tapping his keyboard as he enhances the area of the SUV's license plate. Fin doesn't even try to hide his snort of laughter, and I think that turns Olivia's glare into a half-smile.

Her face suddenly clouds as she turns her gaze back to the monitor. "Look at the timestamp. 12:47 PM. The note arrived at the house at 11:30 this morning." Standing next to her, I can feel her anger seething. "He's got the balls to tell us where he's gonna drop the body before he does it. The son of a bitch!" She slams her fist against the table.

Geek had no way to see her outburst coming and panics. He tries to grab every piece of computer and AV equipment he can, as if he thinks she'll start taking her anger out on his precious digital friends. She's already across the room, pacing angrily to the window and back. Geek takes the opportunity to write the plate number down and hand it to me. "Check down the hall. They can look up the registration for you." He stops just short of begging us to leave.

I don't think any of us have a problem with that. In the hallway, I ask, "Are you okay?"

She sighs. "Yeah. It's just…it's like every time we get a lead on this case, it just sets us back further. Paige sends us a note telling us where to find Marina Vasquez, then gives us the opportunity to catch him dumping the body. And we miss it. We can't catch a break on this thing."

"We will, Olivia," Fin says, with a confidence that sounds false. I like him for trying.

Our luck doesn't improve when we run the plates. A less geeky tech is looking things up for us. "There's a problem with your license plates. They were reported stolen about a month ago."

"So we're looking for a stolen car too now?" This is getting ridiculous and I don't care who knows I think so.

"I didn't say the car was stolen. Just the plates."

"Well, that's helpful."

Olivia interjects, "At least we know we're looking for a blue Jeep Grand Wagoneer. It's not like there are a lot around here. Can you put that into the computer and see what comes up?"

"Uh-huh." He skims the registrations as we try not to fidget behind him. He stops suddenly. "Whoa, wait a sec. We've got a blue 1990 Grand Wagoneer registered to an Eli Page.

A-G-E. Your guy spells it with an 'i' though, right?"

"Do you know when it was purchased?"

"Originally? Let's see…" He scrolls through the car's history, and my eye locks on a name near the top.

Olivia corrects the tech. "No, by Page." She obviously didn't see the same thing I did.

"Right. Registration occurred in…December 2002. Your guy was already in jail by then. Must just be a coincidence."

"We're gonna need the address on the owner anyway. And the rest of them, too."

"How many of 'em are there?" Fin asks.

"Thirty-one."

"That's not so bad. We can have some precinct cops run 'em down for us if they're really spread out."

I only care about the one we've just been looking at. "Can you go back up to the original purchase on Page's Jeep?" I already know what I'm going to see.

"Yeah, it was bought from a dealer in 1990 by Andrew Eckerson. Hey, didn't you say…?"

I share a look with Olivia. "The bastard has my old Jeep." If I've felt uncomfortably warm up to this point I should've been glad of it, because my blood just turned to ice.

"That's a hell of a coincidence." She turns and walks out of the room. I can only stare after her, wondering how I can make her see it's, well, really just a hell of a coincidence.

Fin taps me on the shoulder. "You gonna go take care of this, Eckerson?"

I nod and walk out of the room. I find her in the stairwell. She's on the landing below me. As I descend the stairs, she says, "Go ahead. Tell me again how I'm not really a big factor in what Paige is doing. Tell me it isn't my fault. Because dropping off bodies in my ex-boyfriend's Jeep sure feels like a sick message aimed at me."

"It can't be a message, though. They can't know we've even seen the Jeep." I know I have to find a way to make this not about her. "And, anyway, I was working in Virginia in 2002. Even if Paige and his accomplice had this thing planned back then, they wouldn't have known I'd be working on the case. They couldn't know."

"But they knew I'd be on it."

She saw straight through my attempt at distraction, but I still ask, "What d'you mean?"

"I mean it wouldn't take a whole lot of background searching to find out about us."

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. Maybe it really is just a freak coincidence."

"Or maybe we're just dealing with a freak."

"Liv…" I can't think of anything to say, so I put my arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her against me. Her reluctance pulses through me, a subtle vibration, but she doesn't move away. My cheek rests against her forehead; she feels warm. I feel my blood start to heat up again.

She speaks into my neck. "This needs to stop."

"We're gonna catch him."

"That's not what I'm talking about." I know she doesn't really mean it. She's caressing my stomach as her arm slides around my waist.

"Right." I draw a shaky breath. "But it's not like I'm holding you so tightly that you couldn't pull away any time you wanted to."

She looks up at me. "Why does it have to be like this?"

The door creaks as it opens and she jerks back so fast she almost smacks her head against the wall. Fin doesn't seem to sense the awkwardness as he leans over the railing, saying. "We got an address for Page in Flatbush. I talked to the precinct cops and they gave it a ride-by to make sure it was legit. It was just a vacant lot."

"Big surprise. At least we didn't have to drag our asses out to Brooklyn." She starts down the stairs.

My cell phone rings before I can say anything to her. My mind is still focused on her last question as I answer, "Eckerson."

"Why didn't any of you bother to mention that you'd come to the scene in one car? Det. Munch and I are stuck here, the coroner's come and gone so we can't do anything with the scene and there are no more witness statements to be taken."

I'm trying to concentrate on following Olivia down the stairs, so I'm unable to reply with anything harsher than, "I take it you didn't find anyone else who saw the drop, did you, Healey."

"These snotty precinct cops are refusing to give us a ride back to the SVU, so you'd better come back here and pick us up, because I'm not taking another cab today." She hangs up before I have a chance to tell her I'm not running a chauffer service.

As we step into the lobby, Olivia and Fin look at me questioningly. I explain, "Healey and Munch need a ride back to the squad. We should probably get going."

"Okay. I'm just gonna stop in the Ladies' Room."

I don't really want her to be alone at the moment, but I nod. I can't follow her everywhere, even if I feel like I should. Fin is watching the door she's just disappeared behind too and he looks as if he's about to say something to me when his phone rings. "Scuse me." He steps aside and I sit on a bench, wondering what exactly has to 'be like this.' Our relationship? The case? I wish we'd had more time to talk.

Fin interrupts my train of thought. "That was Munch. He said don't bother to come pick him up, the guys from the 2-0 are giving him a ride. Apparently it was just Healey they didn't wanna do any favors for." He grins conspiratorially. "Apparently she got all bitchy after she got off the phone with you and said she was just gonna go home, since it was her day off and all. Jumped in a cab a few seconds ago. I don't think I've ever heard Munch sound so happy."

Healey's been a little weird since we started on this case, but she never plays well with others. I guess this is just what she's usually like.

I check my watch. Just as I think Olivia's been in the bathroom long enough, she comes out the door, adjusting her scarf. Her face is flushed and she avoids making eye contact. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her until everything else just fades away. There's little possibility of that when she won't even look me in the eye, though. The two of us head back to the car, back to the squad, back to pretending nothing's going on between us. Fin only participates in the first two.


	25. Chapter 24

Melinda Warner sat in her office with a cup of hot coffee. She'd been waiting almost five hours for the results of the DNA tests on the tissue she'd found under Marina Vasquez's fingernails. 'Waiting for the results of the second round of tests,' she corrected herself. The findings from the first round of analysis had been highly suspect. Or highly significant. She wouldn't know until the data was confirmed.

Checking her watch, she found that it was almost 10:30. She'd told the SVU detectives she'd have answers for them around 8. She was surprised they hadn't called looking for them yet. Sighing, she decided it was a testament to their faith in her; they knew she would call as soon as she had something conclusive for them. It was nice to be appreciated like that. Some of the detectives from other units treated her like some sort of machine present only to do their bidding, as cold and unfeeling as the bodies she autopsied.

Warner had decided long ago that the consideration the SVU detectives paid her was a direct result of their constant contact with living victims. They saw enough death-in-life to tell the difference between the walking corpses and the walking among corpses. Or maybe they'd just been distracted by something else.

Someone cleared his throat immediately in front of her desk, causing Warner to jump. She looked up to see who had come in without knocking. "Davis, what are you still doing here?"

Her assistant smiled sheepishly. "Well, I came in late today because of the snow, so I thought I'd just make it up now."

"Oh, I thought maybe you were in detention."

He stared studiously at the floor, not responding. She allowed him to avoid her gaze. His transgression wasn't a heinous one, just a result of miscommunication. One of the lab techs at the scene had spotted a wallet, which had ended up being Vasquez's, next to Davis and asked him to pick it up. Which he had. Without gloves. Warner had held firm that, despite her assistant's obvious error, the tech shouldn't have been asking someone else, someone from a different lab, no less, to do her job.

"I will have to write you up for mishandling evidence, but, if it makes you feel better, the print lab sent the results to me – the only hits they got on the fingerprints on the wallet itself were Marina Vasquez's and yours. They also told me that the grain and dampness of the leather made even these matches fairly unreliable. You got lucky this time, Davis, but next time think before you touch."

His sigh of relief was audible as he relaxed, sliding into the chair across from her. "I really appreciate this, Doc. I know this could be grounds for dismissal."

"If you ever do anything like it again, you will be fired with no questions asked." She hoped she wouldn't ever have to follow through on her threat. She didn't like the thought of losing one of her most capable assistants over a stupid mistake. She continued, "Now, we've discussed this, we can forget about it. Do you know if the DNA results are ready yet?"

"I can run down the hall and check, if you want."

"Please do. And I wouldn't object if you brought me a fresh cup of coffee on your way back." She leaned back in her chair as Davis went to complete his mission, glad she'd been able to smooth things over. It was his first year in the ME's office and, as far as she was concerned, he deserved one free pass if it didn't involve a critical piece of evidence.

He returned five minutes later with her coffee, saying, "They're transferring the gels to film now. They should be ready in a half-hour at most."

"Thanks, Davis. You can head home now if you want."

"Are the SVU detectives going to be stopping by?"

"Yeah, I'm just about to call them."

"I think I'll stick around then. I want to explain to them why their evidence is contaminated myself." Warner was impressed by his willingness to take responsibility. She flipped through her Rolodex and found the number for the 1-6.

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on her office door. "So what'ddya got for us, Doc?" Olivia Benson asked with a tired smile.

"You guys are right on time. I got the results of the second round of testing not two minutes ago. How's the rest of the investigation going?"

"Ugh, we just spent the past few hours getting in touch with all the owners of blue Jeep Grand Wagoneers in the area. It's been a long day."

"I know how you feel." Warner picked up the file of films from her desk and followed Olivia back into the lab, wondering if she really had any idea of how Olivia felt. Fin Tutuola and the Marshal she'd met the previous day were already waiting, chatting with Davis.

Fin greeted Warner and said, "We were just askin' Davis if we should be considerin' him a suspect, since his prints were all over Marina Vasquez's wallet."

Davis was staring at the floor again. Olivia smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "Hey, Craig was a man about it, at least. He just explained what happened to us without trying to shift the blame." She turned to Warner. "Which is more than I can say for Petersen in the print lab. You might want to have a word with him about this." She pulled a piece of paper from her coat pocket, handing it to Warner. "It was attached to the report he faxed over to us."

Warner sighed and pocketed the memo. Knowing what Petersen was likely to have written, she didn't want Davis to be around when she read it. Stepping away from the small group, she flipped the switch to turn on some of the back-lit panels on the wall, giving the detectives a run-down of the autopsy as she waited for the lights to warm up. "The autopsy results were pretty much identical to the last one – died from exsanguination, bruises ranging from a few days ago to just before death, you saw the cuts and the scarf at the scene…" She trailed off as she clipped four films to the panels. "The only real new information is in the DNA. Fluids were all from one person – Paige – but we found something interesting when we ran the DNA I found under the victim's fingernails. There were two samples present, one from Paige and one from another man."

"A man?" Olivia sounded unsure.

The Marshal – Eckerson, Warner suddenly recalled – replied, "Liv, that nut vendor was full of shit. You saw the video. It was impossible to tell if it was a woman or a man who made the drop. Now I think this DNA proves that it was a man."

"Yeah, well if he was right about it being a woman this," she pointed emphatically at the film Warner had designated, "Means we might be looking for a third perp."

Eckerson looked as if he were about to say something further, but remained silent as he and Olivia engaged in a staring contest. Warner saw Fin roll his eyes and cleared her throat, ready to drop a bombshell. "We haven't found any evidence of a woman being involved, but there are a few things you need to know about the DNA we did find." Indicating the first and second films, she said, "This is Paige's DNA from the database. This is the semen. They match, so no surprises there, but…" Stepping to the side, she pointed to the third and fourth, saying, "These are the two samples from under the fingernails. Notice anything about them?"

"Yeah, they match. They _all_ match. But I thought you said you had two different samples."

Eckerson's incredulity was familiar; she had felt the same way when she'd first seen the results. She pointed to the fourth film. "This one is the unique one. It's just very similar to Paige's."

"So…we're lookin' for a family member? Brother, cousin, somethin'?" Fin asked.

"Not just a male family member. Whoever left this sample got 75 of their DNA from the same person." She continued, wanting to present all of her evidence before explaining it fully. "Now the Y chromosome is identical, so we know they're related on the father's side, but what was really interesting was this." She put up two more radiographs and waited for jaws to drop.

"Uh…more stuff that's the same?"

"Yes. This is the mitochondrial DNA. Do you see the problem yet?"

Eckerson continued staring blankly at the screen. Olivia seemed to be catching on. "I thought mitochondrial DNA only comes from the mother..."

"Yeah. Mitochondrial DNA isn't passed down through the nucleus like regular DNA, but transferred through the cytoplasm. It's impossible for the father to transmit mitochondrial DNA because sperm don't contain cytoplasm, and therefore can't support organelles." Warner paused a moment, caught up in the science. "It's actually quite a fascinating method for tracing matriarchal lines. A molecular biologist at Oxford managed to link everyone in Europe back to seven women using mitochondrial DNA and…"

Eckerson waved his hand for her to stop. "Doc, why don't you just tell us what all this means."

She sighed. "Well, I guess we don't really have time to teach a man to fish right now. Okay, 75 of the DNA came from one person, the mitochondrial DNA is identical and the Y chromosome is identical. When you're born, you get 50 of your nuclear DNA from each parent, mitochondrial DNA only from your mother and a Y chromosome, if you have one, only from your father. Based on this evidence, the simplest explanation tells us you're looking for a son that Paige conceived with his mother."

Warner finally got the dropped jaws she'd been expecting. She knew she'd had a similar expression when she'd seen the original test results.

Olivia was the first to speak. "We knew Paige claimed he was sexually abused as a child, but we had no idea…" Seeing Olivia's expression, Warner immediately felt a little guilty for building the suspense as she had.

Fin shook his head, saying, "We'll be at the station if anything comes up. I think we're gonna be pretty busy doin' our homework on Mama Paige."

Warner watched as the detectives and Marshal left, looking a little more downcast than they had when they'd arrived. She sighed, wishing she'd been able to offer them something less grim, but still glad she'd at least been able to give them a clear direction in which to look.

Going into her office to collect her coat and finally head home, she found Davis waiting for her. "Can I help you with something?"

He smiled awkwardly. "I feel a little funny asking, but I just figure since you know her better and all that you might be able to tell me, uh, well, I know she's probably out of my league, but, uh, do you know if Det. Benson is seeing anyone?"

She suddenly understood the real reason he had been hanging around so late. "Davis, this is the morgue, not a dating service."

A hint of desperation crept into his voice. "Doc, do you have any idea how hard it is for me to get dates? Second dates, I mean? No one wants a pathologist for a boyfriend."

"No one but a sex crimes detective?"

"Well, that's what I'm hoping."

Thinking about the brief but heated argument and stare Olivia had shared with Eckerson, Warner didn't feel like Davis had a chance. "Don't hope too hard. And have a good night."

As soon as he had left, she remembered the note Olivia had handed her and pulled it from her pocket. She skimmed the lines, 'To the SVU – For contamination of the evidence in your case, I recommend you charge Craig Davis of the ME's office with obstruction. I will be happy to testify against him. Steven Petersen.'

Warner tucked the note into the top drawer of her desk, disgusted. As she shut off lights and locked doors on her way out, she wondered when everyone in the crime lab would realize they were not rivals, but all working for the same side.


	26. Chapter 25

A/N: Thanks to Dawnie for some much needed and well-timed encouragement. Quite frankly, even I'm surprised by what the plot bunnies delivered for this chapter.

Olivia closed her eyes and tried to relax as she pressed her shoulders into the soft leather seat of Andy's Suburban. She felt tired, drained of the will to do anything but sleep. She knew, however, that the moment she got home or settled on a cot in the crib, she would wish she were back in the squad room, searching through the files and notes that would lead her to Paige.

As passing lights illuminated her inner eyelids with varying intensities of red, the news Warner had given them ran through Olivia's mind. Paige's son (and brother?) was his accomplice. It was a disturbing twist in case almost fully composed of disturbing twists. Despite the definitive DNA evidence, she couldn't shake the feeling that something about the situation wasn't right. With everything they'd seen thus far, she found it all too easy to believe that a third person might be involved. The nut vendor had been so sure that a woman had dropped the body. She wondered if she were putting too much credence in the eyewitness account; she knew all too well that people saw what they wanted to see. The vendor wanted to see asses, as he'd certainly proved during their brief conversation. Still…

She tried to push the thought of a third suspect out of her head, focusing instead on the conversation Fin and Andy were having about the truck.

"And you get to drive it whenever?"

"Yeah, it's basically my car. Maintenance and gas is on the government. They don't really care about mileage, not that I do a lot of personal traveling anyway."

"Man, this really is one sweet ride. This why you became a Marshal?"

"Oh, yeah. New car every two years and I can shoot whoever I want, as long as they're suspected felons."

"Heh, like workin' undercover in Narcotics." Both men tried to laugh; neither was entirely successful.

Under other circumstances, Olivia might have found their banter amusing. At present, however, it served only to remind her of the gravity of the situation with which they were faced. For the first time since the case had started she realized that when they found Paige they would most likely have to use deadly force. It was overly optimistic to think that Paige would allow himself to be taken alive, knowing that Death Row was his only destination. On the other hand, she was grimly pleased to find that she was finally thinking about what would happen when they caught Paige rather than if they caught him.

The mere thought of the case ending caused her to sigh with relief she couldn't quite feel. Yet. What she could feel were Andy's eyes as they flicked back and forth between the road and her face. Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to smile, saying, "I'm fine."

"I didn't say anything."

She briefly imagined the guilty smile on his face as he tried not to stare at her, tried to pretend he hadn't been on the verge of asking her how she was. She was going to have to start dealing differently with him or they wouldn't make it to the end of the case. That had seemed so far off when she'd promised him a real conversation about their relationship the previous day. No, not yesterday. This morning, her brain corrected. She suddenly wished she'd set a better deadline, one she wouldn't have to long for and dread at the same time. He'd want to talk at the first possible opportunity, which would most likely occur before she was ready.

Not that she ever expected to be entirely prepared. There were going to be some painful things to talk about if they decided to give it another try, if she decided to give it another try. He'd already made his interest and intentions clear. That had to mean he was ready to give up the baggage; she wasn't sure that she was even capable of doing the same. The hurts and fears were buried so deep that they may have become ingrained. The feeling that there might not be a relationship to discuss left her more unsettled than the prospect of the discussion itself.

Everything inside her suddenly fought against the idea that they could never get back to something like what they'd had if they worked hard enough. There were still some old feelings remaining. She thought back to the way he'd held her in the stairwell at One Police Plaza. As much as she'd thought she wanted him to keep his hands off her, she couldn't deny the comfort she'd derived from that embrace, the inner tremble she'd felt when her hand had caressed his stomach as she'd pulled closer to him. It had been both exciting and a little frightening. Even with her inner confusion crashing along in high gear, she couldn't help but feel a little surprised every time her attraction to him surfaced, threatening to break through her affectedly stoic outer shell; she was used to maintaining her self-control with far less effort.

Further evidence of her slipping control presented itself almost immediately as Andy's hand settled on her shoulder, causing her to nearly jump out of her seat. "You okay, Liv?"

"Oh…yeah…fine." She stumbled through a few more monosyllables as she blinked to clear both her vision and head. Momentarily, she got her bearings and found that they were parked outside the 1-6. "I guess I just zoned out. I'm a little tired." She yawned to emphasize the point. He was still staring at her after she judged it would be safe to look at him. "What?"

"What?"

"You're staring at me."

"So?" A smile played at the corners of his lips.

She took a moment to compose herself. "So stop it." She couldn't keep the grin from her voice or face. There was something in his eyes that was flooding her with good feelings. They sat, smiling small smiles at each other in the semi-darkness of the truck. She felt oddly shy, awkward, almost like she was back in junior high. Her hand reached tentatively toward his.

The cabin light came on unexpectedly as Fin opened the rear door. Olivia turned sharply away from Andy, nearly kicking the door in her effort to get out as quickly as possible. She shivered as she walked much faster than necessary toward the door of the station, trying to convince herself that the tremor coursing through her body could be attributed to the freezing wind. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Fin walking in the opposite direction and Andy coming up behind her. Her caught her as she crossed the lobby.

"Where's Fin going?" she asked.

"For coffee. Said he didn't feel like drinking, uh, I think he called it the swill Munch probably left. He's gonna get some for us too."

"That's good." She stepped into the elevator, pressing the button mechanically.

As soon as the doors shut with their characteristic metallic scraping, Andy turned to her. "Liv, you gotta tell me what's going on because you're making me crazy. And only partly in the way I want you to."

He caught her almost completely off guard. She stood facing him, mouth agape as she tried to force her thoughts into coherence. All she came up with was, "What do you mean?"

"Look, I know you, so I know you're not just teasing me for your own amusement, but you need to understand that I'm getting a little confused with all these mixed signals. You shove me away as hard as you can, and you follow it up with something like what just happened in the car."

"Andy, it's nothing intentional, it's just…" she trailed off, still unsure of what to say. The doors opened into the empty hallway outside the squad room.

He scrubbed his face with both of his hands and stepped out of the elevator before speaking again. "You asked me earlier why it has to be like this. What I really wanna know is why you have to make it like this."

She followed him down the hall, starting to feel angry about the confrontation. "So this is all on me then?"

He turned, stopping short and nearly causing her to walk into him. He locked her eyes with his in a suddenly intense gaze. "You know how I feel, you know what I want. We can't just say we're gonna put this off and expect everything to be okay. You don't wanna discuss this until after we've got Paige. Fine. But the least you can do is tell me if you want me or not and stop making me guess at everything you do." As he went on, his voice rose to a quavering shout.

Olivia clenched her jaw, focused on what she really wanted and did the last thing she herself could have expected. Holding his head tightly in her hands, she pulled him into a forceful kiss, crushing her lips against his in a demand for certainty. She felt his eyelashes brushing her skin as he blinked in momentary confusion. The kiss softened instantly as he began to return it. Their tongues touched for the first time in five years. She turned her head to the side, feeling his wet lips drag across her cheek before he realized she'd ended the kiss.

He nudged her cheekbone with his nose and she smiled in satisfaction and to let him know that everything was okay. They stood in the hall for a long moment, foreheads touching. She whispered, "Is this what you want?"

"Is it what you want?"

She answered with a confidence she was finally sure she felt, "Yes." She wrapped her arms around his neck, finally letting herself enjoy the feeling of his body against hers, his arms encircling her. "This is enough for now, right? Just…knowing?"

"Yeah."

They stepped apart as the elevator doors opened on Fin carrying four coffees. He looked them over before saying, "You coulda come with me if you didn't wanna wait for 'em."

She reached for her cup, grateful that Fin was willingly giving them an excuse for standing in the hall.

From the doorway of the squad room, Cragen cleared his throat, looking slightly bemused. "Are you drawing straws out here over who gets to tell me the bad news?"

They followed him toward the small square their desks made and Olivia watched his expression change as she told him what Warner had found.

When she had finished, he stood staring at the floor. "That's disturbing even for this squad." He paused to check his watch. "Are you three planning to go home soon?"

"I think we were all planning to stay and look into Paige's mother then catch a few in the crib." She saw Andy and Fin nod in assent.

Cragen sat down at Munch's desk. "I'll help."

Olivia hung her coat slowly and sat at her desk, allowing the heat from her coffee cup to seep into her hands as her computer warmed up. Andy sat across from her at Elliot's desk. He caught her eye and smiled. Despite the work ahead of them, she found it fairly easy to smile back.


	27. Chapter 26

Elliot walked into the precinct feeling better than he had in a long time. The previous day's time off had allowed him to do some of the things he'd really been missing, like spending time with his wife and children. He'd surprised everyone by walking into the house just before three and staying not only all night, but for breakfast in the morning too.

He had neglected to tell them about the protective detail, which had been across the street every time he'd parted the curtains slightly for a discreet look. He was torn between continuing to ignore them and offering them dinner or a snack. Or the bathroom. Or maybe the little TV in the basement. After all, they were sacrificing a night with their families so he could have one with his. He'd ended up ignoring their presence and making a promise to himself that he'd do something nice for them, send a fruit basket to their precinct or something, once the case was over. He could always ask Olivia for suggestions.

The thought of his partner reminded him of the twinge of guilt he felt for leaving his colleagues to work the investigation. He'd felt it from the moment he'd left the day before. He hoped they'd all managed to get the down time, if not the restless night of sleep, that he had had. As he pushed the front door of the building open, he spotted Munch waiting by the elevator. "Hey, John."

"Morning, Elliot. My, don't you look chipper. Maybe I'll have it out with Eckerson today and see if I can take the weekend off."

"It wasn't like that…" Elliot stopped before he could really get into his explanation when he saw that Munch was grinning as he stepped onto the elevator. Elliot followed, saying, "I shouldn't have left, but Cap offered and I just, I couldn't say no. I mean, who knows how long it's gonna take us to catch this guy?"

"Hey, relax. Cragen sent me home the minute I got back from Lincoln Center, and he probably sent Olivia, Fin and Eckerson home when they were done at One PP. We all got a good night's sleep."

Elliot knew that if he could see behind Munch's tinted glasses the same tired look and little dark circles that he had seen in his own reflection while shaving would be evident. He made a joke instead. "How much time off do you think you'd earn if started a brawl with Healey?"

"Just when I start to feel like I'm developing faith in humanity I meet someone like her. You know she showed up at the scene yesterday? Out of nowhere, she's jumping out of a cab screeching about how someone should have called her about the body. I shouldn't complain, I guess, because she left after a tough two-hour workday. She might put in a full six today." He sighed dramatically as the elevator doors opened.

"It could be worse."

John paused and turned to Elliot. "What, you think she might be planning to shoot me? Then visit me while I'm in the hospital?"

"Worse. Maybe she wants to be Mrs. Munch number…what are you on, six, seven?"

"If that were the case she'd definitely end up planning to shoot me. Though, come to think of it, I'd probably beat her to it." Both men laughed as they walked into the squad room.

Glancing around, Elliot was immediately sobered and alarmed. A second board had been set up behind Olivia's desk, and it was already covered. More importantly, Olivia wasn't in yet. He weakly greeted Fin, who looked more ready for the gym than for work.

Munch didn't seem to be affected by the atmosphere Elliot felt in the room. He replied to Fin's nod of acknowledgement by saying, "And a fine good morning to you, my peculiarly punctual partner."

Fin was clearly not in the mood for teasing, answering, "I'm gonna smack you if you start gettin' cute with me, John."

"The hostility. I'm just noting that you're not usually here before me."

"Easy to be on time when you never leave."

Elliot found his voice. "You slept in the crib? Olivia too?"

"Yup. And Eckerson. We wanted to get a little research done so we could get goin' first thing." He gestured toward the second board but said nothing more.

Elliot glanced around, still feeling nervous. "So where is Liv?"

"Don't worry, I was perfectly safe in the shower, if you don't count the constant threat of mildew attack." He turned and was relieved to see her grinning at him, wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt. Eckerson, also casually dressed, was standing right behind her, close enough to revive Elliot's sense of disquiet. She continued, softening her voice as she asked, "How was your night at home?"

"It was good," he replied truthfully. "But I feel more guilty about it than I did, knowing that you and Fin got stuck sleeping in the crib." He pointedly left Eckerson out.

"Hey, when you're single a bed's a bed. You needed some time with your family. Nobody faults you for that, El." She placed a comforting hand on his forearm, giving it a squeeze before moving to her own desk.

His eyes followed her as he tried to decide if there were something different about her. She seemed…more relaxed? Less downcast? His gaze shifted quickly to the board as she caught him staring. He waved his hand, saying, "It looks like you got a lot done last night."

The expression on her face took a moment to move from curious to serious. "You're not gonna believe half the stuff we found out."

An impolite voice interrupted the conversation. "Now is that because it's actually hard to believe or because we'll find it hard to have faith in the reliability of your research methods?"

Elliot's eyes were again fixed on Olivia as she turned, tilted her chin up and said, "Since you're such a gifted investigator, Healey, you can be the judge."

For the past two days Elliot had thought Healey was taller than Olivia, but he now realized that they were about the same height. Something in Olivia's demeanor had changed, something that was making her stand taller, stand up to Healey. Eckerson suddenly stepped behind Olivia, placing his hand at the small of her back. "Don't you two think it's a little early for this?"

As Olivia turned to smile at Eckerson and brush his hand away, Elliot was hit by a sudden revelation – they'd slept together. He dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. They'd spent the night in the crib. And they were acting comfortable rather than awkward. He took a moment to convince himself that Olivia's changed demeanor was a result of making progress on the case rather than anything to do with Eckerson.

For her own part, Healey pointedly ignored Olivia's challenge and paused to run her eyes over the squad, her glance seeming to linger on Eckerson. She addressed him, along with Olivia and Fin, "Well, don't you three look professional."

"Casual Friday," Fin stated nonchalantly.

Before Healey could comment further, Cragen emerged from his office. "Okay, people, we've got a lot of ground to cover this morning as far as bringing everyone up to speed." He gave everyone a moment to gather and settle around the boards before going on. "All right, we got some solid evidence from the scene yesterday, and hopefully it's gonna be what we need to catch this guy. First off, the car that dropped the body. Eckerson?"

"The video from the ATM gave us the make and model, plus the plates, and the eyewitnesses gave us the color. The plates were stolen, so they were no help, but we know we're looking for a blue 1990 Jeep Grand Wagoneer. There's about thirty registered in the area, and of those, the only one that looked suspicious was registered to an 'Eli Page.' The spelling is different, but we think there's a connection, because this particular Jeep used to be mine." He looked at Olivia as he finished.

Elliot picked up the line of reasoning. "Paige is trying to get into our heads with the notes, so he's the kind of planner who would get Olivia's ex-boyfriend's car to mess with her."

"That's what it looks like. We've got a name an address for the guy who owned the Jeep before Page, so hopefully he'll be able to give us a description at the very least."

"Olivia, Eckerson, you two are going to pay him a visit this morning?" Cragen asked.

"Yeah. He's out in Far Rockaway, so we'll be gone 'til at least noon." Olivia didn't sound nervous. Elliot wondered how she was staying so calm, knowing that Paige had done enough homework on her to find out about her past with Eckerson. Hell, he, Elliot, had only found out two days ago that they'd been engaged. It was incredibly troubling to think that a homicidal maniac knew more about Olivia than her own partner.

Elliot came out of his slight fog when he heard Healey ranting, "Wait, firstly, if the guy is that far out why don't you just pick up the telephone, and second, if the plates are stolen, how do we even know this Jeep is registered? The name could just be a coincidence, because, from what we've seen so far, it doesn't seem like Paige would be stupid enough to register his body-drop mobile."

"He didn't," Fin practically spat. "His accomplice did. The Jeep changed owners in 2002 when Paige was already behind bars. Sonny boy apparently ain't quite the chip off the ol' block."

"Excuse me?" Healey puffed her chest out and squared her shoulders. For a moment, Elliot expected her to charge Fin.

Cragen replied before anything could happen. "Relax people. To answer your questions Healey, Olivia and Eckerson are driving out there because they tried calling yesterday but only got a machine. And we got some interesting results from the DNA."

"You didn't mention DNA," she said huffily.

"Olivia, since you explained the ME's report so clearly to me last night, why don't you handle this part."

"Sure, Cap'n." Elliot was again struck by his partner's renewed self-confidence. "Warner ran the samples from under Marina Vasquez's fingernails. She found Paige's DNA and the DNA of an unidentified related male. Now, based on the similarities between the samples, the accomplice is a son that Paige conceived with his mother."

Elliot consciously stopped himself from gasping. He glanced at Munch, who looked just as taken aback by the news as he, Elliot, was. He was abruptly reminded of the true nature of working at SVU – no matter how many strange, sickening scenarios they encountered, there was always something just as bad waiting around the corner. Only Healey had a vocal reaction. "This is a joke right? A sick one, if you ask me."

Olivia ignored Healey's comment and pressed forward, trying to get through all the information before any of it had an opportunity to really sink in. "Terry Paige's mother, Judith Paige, died in '98 at the age of 68. Based on her age and Paige's age, we figured that the accomplice has to be between 19 and 41."

"And how exactly did you come up with those numbers?"

"With basic addition and subtraction, Healey." Eckerson's voice held a combination of frustration and mockery. "It's the range between which he could start having kids and she couldn't anymore."

"Oh. So we're just going to use this to completely ignore the eyewitness account?"

"The nut vendor's story? There's no evidence to support that Paige is working with a woman. We've got the DNA to prove that."

"And we always believe DNA." Healey suddenly smiled. "So we're looking for two men and we have DNA on the one we don't know. I guess the NYPD isn't quite as incompetent as I had originally worried." She smirked in a way that Elliot could only describe as greasy. He decided he preferred her when she was yelling. Or not there.

Cragen seemed slightly uncomfortable as he said, "Yeah." He shook his head. "Okay, so Olivia and Eckerson, you two can get going. Call in if you find anything. The rest of you work on finding out anything you can about Judith Paige and her younger son."

As Elliot watched Olivia put her coat on, he wished she were staying at the station so they could talk. He missed working with her every time they were split up, and this time was worse because Terry Paige was clearly focused on her. He wasn't even being given the opportunity to watch out for her. He didn't feel jealous exactly, just…left out, like she was doing something in which he wasn't involved and about which he wasn't informed. Not that he needed to keep tabs on her. It was just impossible not to worry.

He turned back to his desk as she left, hoping for a quiet morning.


	28. Chapter 27

I woke up this morning feeling like I'd had an amazing dream. Well, I did have an amazing dream, involving me and Olivia in my shower, but I know for a fact that that didn't happen. The other thing, the kiss, is what feels like it may have been too good to be true. It makes me feel like an awkward teenager to admit it, even to myself, but I don't know if I've been that excited over a kiss in years.

It's odd how such a small gesture can be so loaded with emotion and meaning in some cases, so empty in others. I think last night was the former. For me it was definitely the former, but for her…

I've finally convinced myself that she wouldn't have done it, not with our history, if it hadn't meant something. We didn't talk about the kiss after it happened, but if I had questions about where we were before, the questions I have now are ten times worse. We've got a long ride out to the extreme end of Brooklyn, so after twenty minutes of fiddling with the radio, I bite the bullet. "What did you mean?"

She sighs as if she's been expecting me to ask. Aside from the unwillingness to talk about anything serious outside of the case, she's been treating me differently. Things have been less tense between us this morning. I'm afraid I may have ruined our renewed closeness when she quietly asks, "About what exactly?"

"Last night…you said that just knowing was enough for now. But what exactly do we know? I mean, I know what I feel, but the only thing I know about what you're feeling is that you kissed me. And that's not even a feeling, it's an action." The moment I started speaking I knew that I was making a mistake, but it's too late to stop myself now. "Did you just do it to shut me up and stupefy me into not bugging you for a while? Or were you trying to tell me that we might be getting back together, and if we do is it gonna just be sex or is it gonna be a real relationship? Or was it just some kind of pity…"

"It was a self-test," she interrupts, rescuing me from a ramble that could have gone on for hours. She stares at me for a minute or so. I think she might be melting my skin with the intensity of her eyes and I involuntarily bring my hand up to brush my face, just to make sure everything's in order. She's still staring so I pretend I'm scratching at the three-day-old stubble I didn't bother to shave this morning. I consider myself lucky that I even had the presence of mind to take a shower and change my clothes.

The thought of my sweater and khakis is enough to remind me of the weird way Healey looked me over this morning, which in turn is enough to jolt me out of my Olivia-induced hypnosis and get my eyes back on the road. I can still feel her eyes on me though. I try to coax something definitive out of her. "Well? What did you find out?"

She finally looks away and I'm afraid she's not going to say anything. "Love was never the problem with you," she finally states, simply and cryptically. I wait for her to continue; she faces the window, silent. I'm even more confused now. Is she saying that she knows I love her, but she doesn't feel the same? Or that she loves me but doesn't think that's enough? With all this excess angst I should just hang up my gun and become a character in a John Hughes movie.

The silence continues until we arrive at our destination in Far Rockaway. "The Jeep was registered to a service station?"

I check my notes. "Yeah, to Tony Manfreidi of Manfreidi's All-Serve. Maybe he used it for work." She nods and tries to open the door, but a sudden gust of wind prevents her from doing so. The moment's hesitation is enough for me to have an insight. "Liv, wait. It's possible this guy has information about Paige, but do you think he could be involved too? I mean, the fake address for Eli Page was in Brooklyn."

"That was in Flatbush. This is pretty far from there."

"But when I looked up the map for this place there were two listed – this one and one up the street from Prospect Park."

"And you couldn't mention that earlier?"

She's a little angry, like I've been intentionally holding some information back, and I can hear my voice rise as I reply, "I didn't even think of it 'til just now. The name connected to the other one was Gino, or Pino and I was looking for Tony. It's not like I'm trying to screw up this investigation."

"Sorry, I'm just…" I hear her breath hitch in her throat and she rubs her face with her hands. I start to get a little worried. She seemed so up in the squad room this morning, and now she's about to break down.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Liv, are you feeling all right?"

She looks up and I'm surprised to see that she doesn't look at all upset. "Yeah. I'm just tired. Okay, so how should we play this?"

I'm a still concerned by the quick mood change, but it's true that she hasn't really had much sleep. I could use a twelve hour crash myself. I get back to the matter at hand. "I say we come out swinging, make him think he's in trouble. If he's innocent he's got nothing to hide. If he's connected to Paige, he might spill."

"We're not that lucky."

"Hey, this has nothing to do with luck. We've been working for this for three days and we deserve a credible witness who'll tell us everything we need to know the moment we show him our badges. We can always take him in for, I don't know, conspiracy or something if he's not in a helpful mood."

She smiles, and I almost think everything really might be okay with her. We get out of my truck and head into the office/waiting room. It's strangely quiet for a gas station. I ring the bell, expecting someone to emerge from the back office. Instead, Olivia and I both jump as a clang and a barrage of swears echo through the door that opens to the garage.

A man in a grubby blue jumpsuit appears from underneath a car on a lift, rubbing his head with an oily hand. Noticing us, he comes to the door to look us over. "What, you two lovebirds get lost on your way to Long Island and need directions or somethin'?" He scrunches up his little pig nose and laughs.

"Tony Manfreidi?" I ask, opening my coat to show the badge on my belt. Olivia holds hers up to exhibit it. I'm suddenly reminded of one of the reasons I was so excited to become a Marshal – I have a star instead of a shield now. It gives me a sense of that old Wyatt Earp government-sanctioned vigilante justice; I get to flash my badge as I'm going for my gun.

The time it takes me to think about being a cowboy is just enough for him to start getting nervous. "Hey, I didn't do nuthin'."

"What, you got a guilty conscience?" Olivia asks in a sarcastic tone that's almost playful. She's smiling at the guy the same way she was smiling at the nut vendor and I suddenly realize why the persona bothers me – it makes me feel like she's more comfortable around them than she is around me, that, despite the way she kissed me last night, she's still more willing to give a guy like this Manfreidi a chance.

I try to stay focused. "We're here about your Jeep."

"I, uh, don't got a Jeep." He starts to back into the garage, looking over his shoulder, whether for backup or an escape route I can't be sure. My hand brushes my badge as I push my coat back and settle my hand on the butt of my gun. He stops abruptly. "I don't want no trouble."

"Why don't you come back in here and sit down then?"

He complies with my request, sitting on the edge of one of the chairs in the office. Olivia takes the other chair, and I try not to smile as she puts on a show of getting comfortable, making the guy more nervous as we make him wait. I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. From the way the guy is looking at her, I can tell he'll be more likely to talk to her. Still, I maintain an icy stare to prevent him from getting any ideas.

She takes out her notebook. "So, you've never owned a Jeep. Then the registration you filed for a 1990 Jeep Grand Wagoneer back in '97 was fake?" She grins as he nods haltingly. "I gotta tell you, Tony, the DMV is a lot faster at processing charges for false paperwork then they are at renewing your license."

I have no idea what kind of crime she could possibly be threatening to charge him with, but he seems to think he could be in enough trouble to break down. "Hey, I didn't do nuthin' like that."

"Then you admit you had the Jeep?"

"Aw, fuck. I shoulda known that was gonna come back to bite me in the ass. Look I know I didn't file the right papers, but it was just cuz I, uh, couldn't figure out all that tax shit."

I love how he's trying to go along with Olivia's paperwork ploy. He must have misread her badge. I can only imagine what the IRS would do if their agents had guns. She goes on, "So you did sell it in December of 2002?"

"Yeah. You guys here to bust me for it?" He looks at her with an expression I can only assume is meant to inspire pity.

She can't hide all her disgust, but continues to smile, keeping up the charade that she's enjoying, or at least enduring the conversation. "That'll depend on what you tell us. How about you start by telling us about the person you sold it to."

"I shoulda known. I shoulda fuckin' known," he mutters to himself. "You guys ain't gonna believe me if I tell you."

Her eyebrow disappears under her bangs. "Try me."

His eyes shift back and forth between us as he says, "Outta the blue this guy calls me up and says he wants to buy my truck. It wasn't for sale or nothin', I didn't put no fuckin' ad in the paper, but he's callin' sayin' he's gonna give me fifteen grand for the thing. Piece of shit wasn't worth more'n a couple thousand, so I took the money. I ain't stupid." He turns and points out the window to a fairly new Ford pick-up. "Got that with the cash that jerk-off gave me for the Jeep."

"Why'd he give you so much for it?"

"Said it useta be his or somethin' and he wanted it back for sentimental reasons." I resist the urge to smack him as little quote bunnies hop through his story. "Said somethin' about how him and his old girlfriend useta drive around in it. I thought he was just a dumbass, but the way the thing went down was kinda shady."

"In what way?" I don't know how she's staying so calm. I'm a little queasy over the fact that, if the stoy is true, Paige stole a small piece of me in order to get to Olivia.

Manfreidi stares at the floor as he eventually answers the question, "I got a paper bag full of cash left on my doorstep. The next day I leave the Jeep at the station with the keys in it. Next morning it's gone. Guys calls me up and says thanks."

I abandon my brooding as I see the perfect opportunity to scare the moron, who looks like he might actually be too dumb to come up with a lie like this. "Are you kidding? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. What, you think we're stupid or something?" I stand up straight, removing my cuffs from the back of my belt. "That Jeep is about to get you pulled in for murder."

"Wait, man!" He jumps from his chair, holding his hands up defensively. "It happened just like I said. I never met the guy, never saw the guy. I just got the money and he got the Jeep. You gotta believe me!" He's sniveling now, repeatedly glancing at the door and Olivia, probably hoping one will save him.

At the moment it looks like he's made the decision to run, Olivia stands and grabs his wrist. "Hey, Tony, there's an easy way for you to get clear of this. You give us your fingerprints, a DNA sample, maybe a polygraph, we'll apologize and we might even make sure that no one finds out about your little tax problem."

He lowers his hands and looks at her hand, still holding his wrist. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you want."

"All right, we'll take you to the local station and we can get you printed and swabbed."

"Yeah, okay." I love how he thinks we're doing him a favor. I don't remember dealing with many people so willing to help us, no matter what kind of threat we make. That alone sets off a red flag and I make a mental note to have him thoroughly checked out. He turns as we take him out to my car and asks, "What about that, uh, pony-graph thing?"

Olivia is hard-pressed not to laugh as I open the back door and put him in. She lets him sweat until we're both inside and I'm pulling out of the parking lot. "Now, for the polygraph, which is just a fancy word for lie detector, we'll want you to come into the city. We can schedule it for tomorrow if you'd like."

"I gotta come into Manhattan for it?" He's still squeamish. He must be hiding something.

"Well, if you're interested in proving you're telling the truth you do. Otherwise, it's a long ride from Far Rockaway to Central Booking in cuffs in the back of a cruiser."

He glances around the back of my car. "No, I'll come. And you guys are gonna fix the tax stuff if I pass the lie detector?"

"No one will bother you about it again."

"And I only have to answer questions about the Jeep for that, right?"

Olivia turns in her seat to smile at him again. "Why? You got something to hide?"

"No, I, uh, just don't wanna, uh…"

"Well?"

"I don't want anyone else finding out about the, uh, tax stuff and, y'know, using it against me."

"We can ensure that it doesn't come up." She faces forward again and I can tell she's enjoying playing this a little dirty. He's probably hoping he has enough in his wallet and checking account to cover the bribe he thinks we're about to ask for.

Since we're being friendly now, I take the opportunity to ask a personal question. "Hey, by the way, is your place connected to the Manfreidi's All-Serve on Union Street?"

"Yeah, that's my uncle's place. You know him?"

"No. Just…curious." Olivia and I exchange glances. Tony Manfreidi has definitely just moved to the head of our list. It takes us about an hour to get him through the red tape at the local precinct. We leave with his prints and an oral swab to drop at the crime lab, and an appointment with him at the 1-6 at 11AM tomorrow. The precinct cops agree to keep an eye on him for us, though he declines their offer for a ride into the city.

Once we're on our way back to Manhattan, I ask, "So, whatdd'ya think?"

"He's hiding something. He was too nervous to be on the up and up. But that story? If he were working with Paige you think he'd have something more believable, even if he had to have it fed to him. Guess we'll have to wait and see what the prints and ponies tell us."

"Heh…pony-graph." We ride in comfortable silence for a few moments. "I wonder if he'll ever find out you don't have to pay taxes on a major sale like a vehicle when you reinvest the money in another one."

She laughs. "Yeah, I didn't think you were gonna be able to keep a straight face when I pulled that one out. Hey, I should call in and tell Cragen what's up."

I tune out as she makes the phone call. Glancing at the clock I judge that everyone at the precinct has probably already eaten and we might get a meal alone together to talk. I wish we could be doing this in other circumstances. Trying to reconnect, I mean. It's funny, but in any situation other than work, where we're being forced to spend time together, she'd never have let me get this close. And now the thing that's bringing us closer is the same thing that isn't letting me get closer, at least not on any terms I can control.

She hangs up and I'm grateful for the chance to get away from my own disjointed thoughts, despite the fact that a moment ago I was happy for the chance to try thinking things through. "They get anything?"

"Not yet. Cragen said everyone is out on a fact finding mission at the moment, so we can probably take our time getting back."

"Hungry?"

"Always. But we've got to stop at the crime lab before we can get lunch."

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Lemme think about it."

She's still mulling it over when we're walking out of the crime lab. "They should have the print report in an hour, tops, so we should probably eat somewhere close."

"Uh-huh."

"Something bugging you?"

I blurt out, "Are you aware of the way you talk to guys like him? Manfreidi, I mean."

I don't think she was expecting the question any more than I was. She starts walking down the sidewalk and I have to jog to catch up to her. We walk without speaking for about a block before she stops short. She faces straight ahead as she says, "Letting them think they might have a chance if they tell me what I want to know? Yeah." She pauses to look at me for a moment. I fight to keep my expression neutral. I wonder how she knows it's the exact thing I was thinking about earlier. "It bothers you, doesn't it."

"Yeah."

"Andy, most men will tell a woman anything if they think they have two things on their side – an escape route and a little hint of sex. I don't like it, but I'm sure as hell gonna use it if it helps me do my job." She's so sexy when she gets passionate about her job. Or when she stands on the street looking at me curiously like she is now. "Now how would you feel if I started acting like that toward you?"

"After what you just told me? Hopelessly depressed." She looks at me critically and I realize what she's really just said – she's not treating me like someone she's using. And that means the kiss wasn't a hoax. It was real. I manage to stumble through a rationalization, "So the, uh, distance is a compliment?"

"Andy…" I catch the warning in her tone.

"I know, after the case is over.," I say, disappointed. I'm tempted to tell her I wouldn't be so eager to talk if she hadn't kissed me last night, but I don't want her to regret doing it.

She gives me a look but says nothing further. She moves on to lunch. "I want something with noodles. Chinese, spaghetti, whatever." I hope we end up someplace noisy where the lack of meaningful conversation won't be as obvious. To me anyway.


	29. Chapter 28

Olivia sat at the table in the small Chinese restaurant, surrounded by a rapidly-thinning lunch crowd. The silence at her own table became more noticeable as the ones around it emptied. The reason for the lack of conversation sat across from her. Andy, staring sullenly into his plate, was making it incredibly hard for her to enjoy her lunch. She lifted another forkful of Lo Mein to her mouth; he continued stabbing at his chicken.

She made another attempt to draw him out. "You know it's already dead right?"

He grunted in response. It didn't surprise her; he'd said more to the waitress than he had to her since sitting down. She chewed thoughtfully, wondering where his fit of intense brooding had come from. He'd seemed fine all day, even after some awkward moments on their drive to Brooklyn and back and their brief clash on the sidewalk. She'd thought they could at least have a nice meal together away from everyone else at the precinct, some time to sort things out that wouldn't involve anything too emotional, but would still allow them to discuss...Her thoughts trailed off. The kind of talk she wanted to have at this point probably didn't exist.

"I'm sorry?" she ventured instead, not sure why she even needed to apologize to him but hoping it would segue into an actual conversation. "Did I say something to piss you off?"

He grunted again.

She raised her eyebrow, starting to get frustrated, knowing he wasn't even listening. "So I'm thinking about buying a camel and becoming a nomad."

She didn't even get a grunt this time. Understanding the difference between the time for talk and the time for action, she uncrossed her legs and kicked him as hard as she could under the table.

"Jesus!" He dropped his fork and looked at her, eyes wide. "What the hell was that for?"

"You weren't paying attention," she answered, concentrating on keeping her expression impassive. The few people who had looked up from their meals when Andy had shouted were losing interest. She kept her voice quiet and even. "I've been having a one-sided conversation since we sat down."

"We're on our lunch break. I don't wanna hear about the case right now."

"I didn't say anything about it."

"Oh." His face assumed a blank look. "So what were you saying then?"

"Are you okay?"

He answered too quickly. "Fine. Just trying to eat my lunch."

"You're mad at me."

"I am not."

She was momentarily tempted to yell, 'Are too!' and see if they could have a three-year olds' argument to fill the silence for a few minutes. Instead, she maintained her calm tone, saying, "You're mad at me because we're not moving faster."

He faltered for a moment before pointing to her plate. "You've eaten just as much as I have, and it's not like we're on a schedule." He picked up his fork and resumed eating.

"Whatever, Andy." She stood, dropping her napkin next to her plate as she turned toward the bathroom. In the back of her mind, she realized that it would be the third time in as many days she was using the ladies' room as a refuge. The fact that this particular bathroom was dim, darkly decorated and located at the end of a narrow hallway made it feel even more like a place into which she could disappear for a few minutes.

The room was empty and silent, and Olivia was thankful for it. She needed a few minutes alone before going back to the table. The previous night, she'd thought that kissing him would relieve some of the tension by giving him the certainty that she was willing to try again. It had worked for her. She was now fairly sure she was making the right decision and felt like a weight had been lifted. Between them, however, the tension was worse than ever. Maybe that meant that getting back together was really the wrong decision. The disordered mix of emotion, instinct and reason was rapidly reducing her trust in her ability to make any decision.

After washing her hands, she took a moment to run her fingers through her hair, buying more time to hide. A similarly occupied redhead standing next to her abruptly asked, "So what'd he do?"

"Excuse me?" Olivia felt as disconcerted by the question as by the woman's unnoticed entrance.

"Your boyfriend. I saw you kick him under the table. It made me laugh a little."

Olivia was taken aback by the woman's presumption. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh." She nodded in an understanding way. "Breakup time. Well, you might wanna practice your 'it's not you, it's me' speech, because he's waiting for you in the hallway." The redhead ducked into a stall before Olivia could reply.

Andy was, in fact, leaning against the wall in the narrow hallway. As Olivia tried to squeeze past him, he put his arm up, blocking her. "Don't do that again."

She turned and stared at him incredulously. He sounded annoyed, and something akin to anger flashed in his eyes as she looked at him. Refusing to believe what she'd just heard, she tried to make light of it. "You're taking away my bathroom privileges?"

"I'm serious. Even though we're technically working as partners, I'm still responsible for your safety while we're on duty, and I can't make sure you're safe if you go stalking off."

She sighed, trying to laugh off his intensity. "Aren't you being a little over-dramatic?"

"There's a service entrance in this hallway. Someone could have gotten to you before I could do anything. I'm not gonna let anything…personal…stop me from doing my job."

"Well, sorry to make your job so difficult," she said bitterly, shoving his arm out of her way and walking back to the table. No longer hungry, she slipped her arms into her coat. She wasn't sure if her sudden anger had been roused by Andy's insistent over-protectiveness or his implication that she was letting the problems with their relationship – or more accurately, lack of relationship – have an effect on her professionalism.

She refused to look at him as he dropped the money for the bill on the table and followed her out of the restaurant. Her feet mechanically led her toward his car, parked on a nearly empty side street. She heard his voice beside her as they walked. "In case you haven't noticed, you've been out of my sight for a grand total of five minutes since this case started. When we weren't in the precinct or One PP, I mean. I may take risks, but I'm good at my job and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anything happen to you on my watch."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she said through clenched teeth. Somehow, the perception that she was a damsel in distress hurt as much coming from Andy as it did coming from Elliot. Not that she was planning to tell anyone, but she'd been half-expecting Paige to come after her since she'd heard about his prison break. She was even looking forward to it, with nervousness tempered by the grim determination to end the case.

Olivia stopped as she felt Andy pull her arm back. "You don't always have to do it all on your own." She felt her anger start to dissipate, replaced by a strange fluttery sensation, as he spoke, holding her eyes with his. "Or you shouldn't always have to."

She was prevented from answering by the necessity of answering her phone. "Benson."

"Ah, Detective, it's Petersen at the print lab."

She stiffened slightly, remembering the memo that had come with their last print report. "Right. You've got something for us?"

"No. Tony Manfreidi's prints didn't match anything connected to your case, not that you could have expected them to, considering we only have identified prints to work with in this case."

"Well…thanks anyway."

"If it makes you feel better, his prints do match a set connected to a string of car thefts in Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx. I called the lead detectives already. Good luck with your case." Petersen hung up before Olivia could say anything.

She turned back to Andy. "We don't have to go to the print lab. They've got nothing for us. But Manfreidi got himself linked to some felonies."

"I just knew he was a winner. So if they could just tell us what they found over the phone, why'd we hang around here?"

"We didn't know they weren't going to find something. And we're still waiting on the DNA. We usually have to go to the lab before they give us their results."

"Why? Your ME get upset when she can't do her knowledgeable lab-coat routine?"

"No, they just like to show us stuff, impress us with their superior technology." She looked carefully at him, wondering why he wasn't at least smiling at her weak joke. "You're tuning me out again."

"I'm not. Should we just wait in the car?" He moved to open the door for her. She blocked him with her body. "Liv, this isn't gonna get us anywhere."

She was surprised by the amount frustration she was harboring. It seemed to come from nowhere, bursting out of her. "So…what? You're going to keep pretending nothing's going on until I jump into your arms and tell you I love you?"

His eyebrows shot up as if he were considering the possibility. "I wouldn't complain if you did."

She ignored his comment, unable to stop saying things she hadn't even been aware she was thinking. "Every time I give you something you want you act like it's enough. Then you turn around and want more. I thought I could set limits on this, but it's not working and now we're both getting confused and frustrated and I don't know how to fix it."

"Why does something have to be fixed?" he asked.

"I don't know. But something does." She wished she'd taken the time to think through what she wanted to say before she'd gotten into it. Not having a clear argument made her feel like a blithering idiot.

Andy seemed just as anxious as she felt. "I didn't ask you to kiss me."

"Didn't you?" She hoped her voice sounded more challenging than coy.

"No. I asked you for a straight answer."

"What if there isn't one?"

He didn't answer, but stepped closer to her, pinning her against the side of his car. The next thing Olivia knew was that they were kissing and it felt incredible. She wasn't sure how much time passed, but she was sure of the straight answer he just given her.

He pulled back first but stayed close. She could feel his breath on her cheek as his face hovered near hers. She kept her eyes closed, waiting for something to happen. His hands dropped from he hips as he eventually stepped back. Her emotions moved from disappointed to frustrated to angry with herself. As she opened her eyes, she found that she had no idea what to do next.

Her body decided for her. Almost before she knew what she was doing, Olivia felt her hand come up. The harsh, flat sound of the slap echoed against the tall buildings. They stood, frozen, his face turned to the side, her palm parallel to the ground. "Oh, God, Andy. I'm so sorry."

He exhaled slowly as he turned his face back to her. The skin of his left cheek held the slightest hint of red.

"I didn't mean to…" She felt lost, confused and utterly out of control. Straight answer? How could there be a straight answer when she didn't even really understand the question? The only thing she could really be sure of was a new appreciation of the phrase 'emotional roller-coaster.'

"No, no. I should've expected it." His casual tone hid something angry, wounded. "Everything's always on your terms. I don't see why this is any different."

"What?" She was almost begging, wanting him to explain what was happening.

"When we broke up? You decided that. When we broke up again? You. Lack of anything three months ago? You. Talking? You. Kissing? You. You always decide everything for us and I just go along with it because I love you and I do what you tell me. I've given you what you want and you've walked all over me."

"Andy…" She couldn't come up with anything to say. She wanted to be angry over his accusations, but even more, she wanted to run. So she did. "Maybe we should just forget about this. Us."

"Fine. Whatever." She didn't notice her cell phone ringing until Andy plucked it from her belt a moment later and answered it. "Eckerson…bathroom…Nothing useful…We're waiting on the DNA…Probably an hour or so…Okay, Captain." He snapped the phone shut and clipped it back in place.

They stood staring at each other in the alley for an interminable interval. The cold wind served as a sudden reminder that they'd been standing outside in the New York winter for the length of two phone calls, a kiss and an assault on a federal officer. He broke the eye contact as he moved toward the driver's side door. She was relieved that the part of her mind that told her things were probably for the best was strong enough to overcome the part that was screaming for her to jump into his arms and never let go. It had been winning out for almost ten years.


	30. Chapter 29

Fin tuned out the conversation going on around him in the squad room. He was just about ready to shove somebody's head through a wall. No, not somebody, he corrected. Healey. He was ready to shove Healey's head through a wall. And she'd only been in the room for ten minutes. He checked his watch. Just after three. The rest of the day wasn't looking good, but at least it would be over soon. He was looking forward to going home and sleeping in his own bed, maybe ordering delivery from the pizzeria around the corner. He could probably do with a couple of beers too, so he'd have to stop off on the way home…

A loud complaint brought his attention back to the present. "Are we just going to sit here doing nothing for the rest of the afternoon?" Fin mentally catalogued the things around the room that could be used to gag Healey. He noted that Elliot was gazing studiously at his desk, while Munch looked as if he were about to have a coronary. "Is anyone going to answer me?"

Munch appeared to count to ten before responding, "You can go wait in the holding cell if you'd like. Or the drunk tank. That one's soundproof."

"I'm getting more than a little tired of your negative attitude, Det. Munch, and I'm going to have a serious talk about it with Capt. Cragen when he gets back from his meeting, because I think you could use some work on your people skills so you don't come off so…"

Fin stifled a laugh as he saw Elliot making faces behind Healey's back as she pontificated. He decided that things could be worse; he could have been stuck with her for the entire day as Munch had been. As it was, he'd had enough to deal with as silent witness to Olivia and Eckerson's painfully obvious sexual tension. He'd felt like a third wheel the entire time he'd spent with the pair the previous day, but hadn't been able to come up with a legitimate excuse to leave them alone without making his awareness known. He doubted Olivia would be quick to forgive him for the insight. If he could call something so easy to spot an insight.

He honestly couldn't see the problem with Eckerson. Elliot clearly hated his guts, but he seemed like a nice enough guy and a pretty good cop. There had to be something else going on that he, Fin, just didn't know about. Not that it was any of his business, but he wished someone would tell him something, share some gossip, anything. For one of the few times in his life, he felt like he was in a place where he wanted relationships that went beyond the surface. The feeling came and went, but had been nagging at him more often lately.

"Is there a problem here?" Cragen was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Fin directed his attention to his Captain and decided he would cut an imposing figure if he were taller. At his current height, he conveyed only fatherly disappointment to come home to his kids fighting. The dad analogy seemed like it was never far away any time Fin looked at Cragen. He wondered if it were a symptom of his increasing desire for closeness with the squad or the cause.

The one person in the room he'd like to be further away from, permanently if possible, answered, "We were just having a discussion about the case." Healey appeared miffed that her oration had been interrupted.

"Discussion implies the participation of more than one party," Munch murmured just loud enough for Fin to hear. Fin smirked at his partner.

Cragen, not overhearing, said, "Should I take that to mean you've all had a productive day?"

Fin cleared his throat. He would hardly have called the day 'productive.' After what felt like days of research, they had managed to find Judith Paige's social security number, which led them to her old addresses and employers. Then they'd visited them personally. They'd visited all of them personally. Of the seven people he and Elliot had talked with, five had had only vague recollections, and one had clearly been lying. The final interview had been the only one that had led to some useful information.

Fin listened as Elliot recapped it for Munch, Healey and Cragen. "The only person we found with what we'd consider reliable information was Ida Cohen, the Paiges' neighbor in the Bronx from '67 to '73. She's in her 80's and living in a retirement home now, but she seemed pretty sharp." He looked to Fin for acknowledgement and Fin nodded. The old lady had been more on the ball than most people in their twenties. Elliot continued, "She remembered Judith Paige being pregnant in 1969. That would put the age of our little brother at about 35."

"A 35 year old guy from the Bronx? Well, that certainly blows this case wide open."

"It's more than you found." Surprised by his own outburst, Fin made a conscious effort not to add 'bitch' to the end of his statement.

"That is completely uncalled for, Det. Fin, and it brings up exactly what I wanted to talk to you, Capt. Cragen, about and your squad's utter inability to work with the Marshals and…"

Cragen held his hand up to prevent Fin from rising and spoke to cut off Healey. "I'm sure Det. Tutuola" - Fin almost smiled at the emphasis Cragen put on the correction - "is just eager to get through the details he and Det. Stabler uncovered in light of the little background we have been able to find. Fin, anything other than she was pregnant? Name of the baby? Birthday?"

Fin glanced at Healey, who was staring resolutely at the evidence board, before he answered, "She said the kid was probably born in July or August."

"And how sure was Mrs. Cohen on this?"

"Real sure. Kept tellin' us about how her son graduated high school that year, and how Judy and her son T.J. couldn't come to the party on account of labor settin' in."

"T.J.?" Cragen shook his head. "You never think of serial killers having nicknames."

"Or model childhoods. Mrs. Cohen was all compliments on T.J. and his helpfulness. He carried her groceries, moved furniture around, even helped her bury her cat when some, uh, neighborhood kids cut it up and let it bleed to death in the back alley. Three guesses who did the deed on that one."

Elliot interjected, "I don't think she even knows that T.J. is Terry Paige, because I gotta tell ya, the moment I found out somebody I'd known was a homicidal raping maniac I'd be looking for reasons to put him down rather than build him up."

"I take it you two didn't enlighten her?"

As he walked toward the coffee maker, Elliot replied, "Uh-uh. Who wants to give an old lady news like that? I don't even know if my CPR certs are current."

"Anyway," Fin continued, "she didn't actually know anything beyond Mama Paige being pregnant and the rough dates. Never saw boyfriends; never even saw the baby, in fact. One day she's ready to pop, a week later she's walkin' around with no baby like everything's fine."

"Apparently Judy was a quiet girl…kept to herself mostly…"

"Heh, thanks for the profile, John. Did you and Healey find anything?"

"Not much, Cap. Paige's medical records are spotty, at best. She probably spent more time at anonymous clinics than hospitals. The only birth certificate she's named on is Terry's. No record of a second baby."

"Is there any way we can do a search for foster kids and adopted kids from the Bronx born in July or August of '69?" Cragen asked no one in particular.

"I'm not sure that records going back that far are even computerized, or available to us, and I'm pretty sure they seal adoption records, so I'm not sure how much help that will be."

"It's what we've got for now, Healey. Do what you can. All of you." He glanced around. "Olivia and Eckerson aren't back yet?"

"Haven't heard from them," Elliot said, stirring his coffee.

"They must still be at One PP." Cragen walked into his office, presumably to check on the whereabouts of Olivia and Eckerson. Fin, for one, was glad they'd been away all day. He hoped they'd had a chance to work some things out. They were probably either fighting or making out in the back seat by now. Or both.

Healey suddenly walked purposely toward the door. "What leaving us so soon, Healey?" Munch asked sarcastically.

"I'm going to the ladies' room, Det. Munch, and just because your Captain is willing to put up with your attitude, all of your attitudes, don't think it won't come back to bite you." She stalked off down the hallway.

"She can go ahead and bite me, then."

Fin laughed at Elliot's wisecrack, asking, "What's she threatening us with anyway?"

Munch's eyes peered over the rims of his glasses. "Probably a permanent transfer to SVU. She can be your new partner, Det. Fin."

"What you gonna leave me, John?"

"Let's just say I think I'd prefer Bubonic plague, or burning at the stake, maybe crucifixion, to working with Healey. At least I could look forward to death at the end of those. With her it just goes on and on indefinitely."


	31. Chapter 30

Elliot felt as if he were elevating self-repression to an art form. Despite his rising levels of anxiety and frustration, he'd been civil to his colleagues and to the people with whom he'd spoken. He hadn't snapped at Healey. He'd managed to take part in some friendly banter with Munch and Fin. Most impressive of all, he hadn't pressed the '4' and 'send' keys consecutively on his cell phone, meaning he hadn't called Olivia all day.

Rationally, he knew she was fine, knew he would have heard about it if she'd been kidnapped. Or shot. He swallowed quickly, pushing those kinds of thoughts from his mind and concentrating on the fact that she was okay. Perfectly fine, he recited in his head, Olivia is fine. That morning he'd promised himself that he wouldn't let his concern for his partner consume him; he'd kept the promise for roughly the time it took her to take the elevator down to the lobby and walk out of the building. His anxiety had fed on itself since then, becoming more intense with each passing moment that she didn't walk through the door.

Smiling and waving to her as she left with Eckerson each day was getting old fast. It made him worry not only about her physical safety, but also about her emotional state. It was becoming obvious that she and Eckerson were headed for…something. An intense something. Elliot tried not to think about what that something could be. Either bedroom or boxing ring would lead to problems he didn't think Olivia needed.

As he looked up from his untouched cup of coffee, he noticed that Cragen was seated on the edge of Fin's desk, listening to Munch's martyr routine over being saddled with Healey. Elliot didn't even interrupt Munch's rant as he quietly asked Cragen, "Liv gonna be back soon?"

"About an hour and a half. They're just waiting for the DNA. It doesn't look too promising, but you never know." Elliot, unsatisfied with the answer, turned back to his coffee and continued stirring. He could feel Cragen looking at him. "You okay, Elliot?"

"Fine, Cap."

"Uh-huh. John, Fin, you two want to do a coffee run?"

Fin looked toward the coffee table, back at Cragen, and at Elliot's eternal stirring. "Yeah, I can't stand the crap he makes either." The two men pulled on their coats.

As they exited, Elliot overheard Munch saying, "Next you're going to be insulting the way I keep my desk."

Not wanting to get into the obligatory conversation for which Cragen had cleared the room about how he seemed distracted and always had someone he could talk to if he needed it, Elliot volunteered, "There's nothing that talking is gonna do. I just get nervous when she's not around because I don't know for sure that she's okay, with Paige out there and all. I'll be fine as soon as she gets back."

Cragen seemed surprised by the unsolicited admission. "Okay, then. Well, at least we're getting better coffee." He looked over Elliot's shoulder suddenly and asked, "Can we help you?"

Elliot turned in his chair to see two men in dark suits displaying their gold shields. The darker haired one said, "I'm Det. Carr, this is Det. Ermine. We're with Brooklyn Robbery. Are you Captain Cragen?"

"Yes."

"I called earlier, Captain. Did you get my message?"

"No, I've been busy, sorry. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah. We got a call from the print lab this afternoon, and they told us that a guy you liked for rape matched prints from a batch of grand theft autos we're working."

"And you came all the way into the city to thank us?" Elliot heard the edge in Cragen's voice and stood, finally seeing an outlet for his pent up frustration and ready for a fight. Or at least an argument.

"Actually, we were hoping you could help us out."

"We can't," Cragen stated simply.

They seemed stunned by the flat refusal. The one with the lighter hair who had yet to speak started to get indignant. "Whatddya mean, you can't?"

Elliot saw his chance. "The Captain means no. We don't have time to do your jobs for you right now."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Lighter Hair seemed just as up for a fight as Elliot was.

"Elliot…" Cragen's warning needed no further words. He turned back to the Brooklyn detectives. "What Det. Stabler means is we're up to our necks in a manhunt, and we just don't have the time or resources to get involved in another investigation."

Darker Hair gave a slight chuckle. "Captain, I don't think you understand the magnitude of what we're saying. We have a chance to bring down the biggest auto theft ring and chop shop in the five boroughs, and all we need from you is some cooperation. "

Cragen pointed toward the evidence boards covered with photographs of crime scenes, victims and suspects. "As you can see, we really don't have the time, and we don't even know if we're going to be looking at that guy after the DNA comes back…"

Lighter Hair, giving the boards a cursory glance, interrupted, "No, listen, the guy at the lab said that you got Tony Manfreidi to agree to a polygraph, and we just want to get in on your action so we can get to the ringleader, his uncle."

Elliot fought to keep his temper as the Brooklyn detectives postured for the sake of non-violent felonies.

Darker Hair continued, "We've been on this one for months and your evidence is the first solid link we've gotten, so if you'd prefer to let this guy go free for the sake of your own case…"

That was the last straw. "You think we're trying to protect our own collar?" Elliot erupted, ripping Sarah Obertello's picture from the board and waving it in the invading detectives' faces. "You see her? She needs our cooperation. There's a psycho who's gonna rape and murder her if she doesn't get some cooperation. Now you tell me that a couple of stolen Hondas are worth her life."

Darker Hair and Lighter Hair stood gaping, and Elliot was pleased that neither was able to come up with a suitable response. Yelling had also improved his mood. He felt slightly less wound up having found an outlet for some of his anxiety. Sitting at his desk and putting his feet up, he stared at the detectives.

In his effort to keep his eyes averted, Darker Hair found the evidence boards. He moved closer, inspecting the photos. In an abrupt movement, he stepped back and turned. "This is the Terry Paige case."

"Yeah," Cragen confirmed, nodding to Munch and Fin as they reentered the squad room. Elliot accepted his coffee from the tray, noting with satisfaction that Lighter Hair was now looking over the photos too.

Darker Hair grabbed his partner's sleeve. "Well, we'll just be going and let you get back to work then. Sorry about…uh, good luck with this one." The pair exited quickly.

"Guess they don't get a lot of dead bodies over in Robbery," Cragen mused.

"Robbery? What were they doin' here?"

"Doesn't matter. They're gone." Cragen didn't seem eager to recount the past few minutes, not that Elliot could blame him. "Speaking of gone, did either of you see Healey in the hallway? She's been in the bathroom for an awfully long time."

"If she's not back in a hour, we'll wait another hour and then draw straws to see who has to go check on her."

Munch's joke reminded Elliot of his own foray into the women's room two nights ago. Olivia had opened up to him, and however uncomfortable he'd felt with her confidences at the time, he still valued the trust she'd placed in him. The closeness he'd felt with her then had only diminished in the days since. All of his unease returned in a rush, negating the relief he'd felt after his outburst. He glared at the clock futilely willing the hands to move faster.

He sighed, looking away. Even when she did get back to the station, she'd still be with Eckerson. It was starting to get harder not to think of them as a pair. Even after the Marshal left, he might not be out of the picture. As much as he'd like to think he was trying to protect his partner from making bad personal decisions, he wondered if Eckerson were going to be a mistake she kept making, no matter who tried to stop her.

His thoughts were interrupted as Cragen questioned another unexpected entrance. "Davis, what are you doing here?"

"I brought over your DNA results on that Manfreidi guy." Craig Davis had a big smile on his face, looking very proud to be involved in the investigation. "Sorry, but no match, no relation to Paige. Hope you have something else you can use to nail the guy." He glanced toward the evidence boards, handing Cragen the envelope with the findings. "Wow, are these the notes he's been sending? I'd only seen the one on the first girl's body. These don't even make any sense. How'd you figure them out?"

Cragen ignored the questions about the case. "Davis, we appreciate you bringing these over, but Det. Benson and Marshal Eckerson have been killing time at One PP waiting for them."

"Oh, I...I didn't know," he stammered, color creeping into his face. "I mean, nobody told me they were waiting. I was just trying to help you guys out."

"Well, thank you for that."

"Want me to call Liv and let her know, Cap?" Elliot was dialing before Cragen had nodded his assent. The phone rang once, twice.

"Benson."

"Liv, it's me."

"Hey. What's up?"

"There was a miscommunication at the lab and Davis just brought the results straight to us at the station. You can come back now."

"Okay. See you in a little bit." She hung up. Elliot didn't have time to think about how distracted she had sounded, or the fact that she hadn't seemed upset over the wasted time.

"That was quite the bathroom break, Healey," Cragen said.

"I stepped out for some fresh air and decided to stop in at the bakery down the street, because Det. Munch rushed me through lunch and I was still hungry, so I thought a muffin would be good and you're lucky I did because I found this," she held up a manila envelope, labeled 'SVU' in thick, black block letters, "under the windshield wiper of Det. Munch's sedan." She tore open the envelope before anyone could say a word, but Elliot was able to grab her wrist before she could yank out its contents.

"Are you crazy? This could be from Paige!"

She huffed and tried to pull her arm away. "No it couldn't because he sends his notes by courier and a courier would have come into the station, not left it on one of your cars, assuming a courier would even know which cars belonged to this squad, unless he just guessed and picked any old car assuming the envelope would get to SVU or…"

Elliot had taken the time consumed by Healey's tirade to put on gloves. "All right, give it to me. Can someone get an evidence bag?"

Fin pulled one from the bottom drawer of his desk. As he handed it to Elliot, he turned to Cragen, asking, "Since Healey already opened the thing and Elliot's got gloves on, can we at least take a look at it before we send it to the lab?"

"We might as well. John, you got a pen and a piece of paper?"

Elliot pulled the plain white sheet of paper from the envelope, holding it in front of Munch for him to copy. "Done?" Munch nodded and Elliot slipped the note back into the envelope and bagged it. He turned to Davis, who was standing off to the side eagerly watching the proceedings. "Are you headed back to the lab?"

"Uh-huh."

"Want to drop this off for us?"

"Sure!" He practically ran from the room with the bag. The kid was awfully easy to please, apparently. Elliot turned and read the note Munch had tacked to the board.

_The Eagle has landed! A good girl might have avoided this throat trouble by going to church last week._

_Bless you, _

_T._

"Throat trouble?" Fin grumbled. "I think gettin' your throat slit is more than trouble. How's goin' to church keep you from gettin' killed by a psycho?"

Elliot stared at Paige's words in Munch's handwriting. He suddenly saw a connection too familiar to be coincidence. He wracked his Catholic-school-educated brain. The answer hit him like a flash of light on the road to Damascus. "St. Blase! You get your throat blessed on the feast of St. Blase! He must have dumped her at a Catholic church."

"Not to burst your bubble, Elliot, but if she's at a church, why the Apollo 11 reference?"

"Maybe it's just a reference to the year. Maybe it has something to do with a church founded in 1969." Elliot sat down at his computer, typing feverishly and listening to the continuing discussion.

"If 1969 is what he wants to tell us he could use other references. Vietnam, Woodstock. Why the moon landing? They can't even prove that really happened. Maybe it has to do with falsification."

"What exactly does that tell us? That they built the fake moon landing set in a Catholic church in Manhattan, and Terry Paige found out about the conspiracy and is usin' that knowledge to pick on you?"

"I've trained you well, grasshopper. But, seriously, in all of the other notes, every word held some meaning. I think we should consider what the Eagle reference is before we go searching all the Catholic churches in the city."

"Well, maybe there's a St. Blase's or somethin' like that around. You got anything Elliot?"

Elliot looked up from his computer search. "Ninety-nine Catholic parishes on the island of Manhattan and none of them named St. Blase's."

"What about churches founded in 1969?" Healey asked. Elliot turned to look at her, surprised that she was being helpful rather than pushy. Munch and Fin seemed similarly struck, as they had fallen silent.

"I'll check." Elliot turned back to his computer as he heard Cragen answer a ringing phone. "This doesn't give dates that churches were founded. I suppose we could call them."

Munch held up a hand. All eyes turned to Cragen. "Uh-huh…yeah…I'll send then right down." The three detectives and the Marshal waited expectantly. "That was Midtown North. CSU and Warner are meeting you behind St. Patrick's. I'll have Olivia and Eckerson meet you there."

Elliot sighed heavily. The picture of Sarah Obertello he had ripped from the board in his anger stared back at him from his desk. He silently apologized to her, feeling guilty as he did so because he was also thinking about how soon he would be seeing Olivia.


	32. Chapter 31

She fucking slapped me. I kissed her and she slapped me. I never even saw it coming. We kissed and she was standing there with her eyes closed and…she was so beautiful. I wanted to touch her face, memorize the details with my fingertips. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me. And smacked me.

It's not like I was out of line. Hell, she kissed me first, and I sure as hell didn't smack her. I'd never even dream of hitting her. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I should just do what I'd do to a perp who pissed me off and punch her.

Like I can even think about that without starting to hate myself. God, why can't things just be normal? It'd be so fucking simple. Olivia, I love you. Andy, I love you too. Simple.

Simple doesn't fucking exist. It's amazing that I'm only just figuring that out now. I think I might have told her I love her in that alley right after she slapped me. I'm so her bitch. And she doesn't even realize it.

I'm an idiot for loving her. I just have to get her out of my mind. Oh, yeah, that won't be hard with her sitting right there.

Don't look at her. Don't look. Don't…fuck. My head is turning to the side like there's an invisible string attached to my chin. I get the merest glimpse of her before my resolve snaps the string and I'm facing forward again.

I couldn't see her face, anyway, just it's reflection in the passenger side window. Her eyes were closed. Her hand was resting on her thigh and I wanted to reach for it, hold it in mine. Make her look at me with big, sad eyes. Tell her I was sorry for yelling at her.

Wait, I'm not sorry. She slapped me. She slapped me for no reason and that's why I yelled at her. That's why I made her feel like she was the one who'd ruined our entire relationship.

Oh, shit. Did I blame her for everything?

I shake my head quickly, trying to clear it. Stay in the moment, Andy; don't think about her. I'm driving to St. Patrick's Cathedral. There's another dead girl. It's the last one Paige had stashed. He'll have to come out of hiding to get more. Olivia hasn't said a word to me since we left One PP. She hasn't been angry. She hasn't yelled. She's just been…

Dammit. Start again. Paige is out of fresh meat. If he doesn't grab new girls himself, he'll send his son. Maybe he won't go after more girls. Maybe he'll be after Olivia this time. That's counts as thinking about the case. Paige has targeted Olivia in notes, with my Jeep. She's in danger. It's my job to keep her safe.

I certainly can't protect her if I can't look at her. At the next stoplight I hazard a glance. She's still looking out the window but her eyes are open now. I hope she's not crying. My hand is halfway to her shoulder when the light turns green. I pull it back and try to focus on driving.

She's not crying. I know she's not. She never does. What do I care if she is crying? I'm mad at her. She slapped me for no reason.

She must have had a reason. She doesn't just do things for no reason. What did I do?

I glance back over at her and our eyes meet for a moment before we both look away. I hope she didn't think I looked angry. I am angry. Why do I have to keep reminding myself that I'm angry?

God, I can't take this much longer. I really need to work on this whole not caring thing.

I'm not going to be able to work like this. It needs to stop. I scan the curb. It's all parked cars and snowdrifts. I stare into every empty square of pavement. Intersection. Fire hydrant. Bus stop. Intersection. Bus…parking spot. I pull into the unexpected space.

"What are you doing?" Her tone is surprised, nervous. It's the first thing she's said to me in over twenty minutes.

I try to control the vibrations of the high-tension wires my nerves have become. "We're gonna sit here and figure this out." I emphasize the 'we.'

"What?" I've caught her off guard by pulling over and she hasn't figured out what I'm up to.

"We are going to sit in the car and talk until this…" I make a vague gesture with my hands when I can't find the word, "this is resolved and we can actually work together." Fine, I'm not sure what I'm up to either.

She's had enough time now to collect herself. "No, no, you're gonna keep driving, because we're on our way to a murder scene."

"Why did you slap me?" I turn off the engine. Maybe I should throw the keys out the window, too.

"Andy, just drive. We need to get to the cathedral."

She really doesn't want to talk about this. I change my question to a demand. "Tell me why you slapped me."

"We don't have time to…"

"Tell me!" I interrupt, my voice rising.

"I don't know!"

"That's not good enough!" We've both acquired the same hint of desperation in our voices.

"Just…stop!"

"Not until you talk to me!"

"I don't want to talk to you!" She slaps her hand against the dash to emphasize the statement.

I take a deep breath and get my voice under control before I say, "Well that's too bad because we're staying right here until you explain why you hit me."

She crosses her arms over her chest and we sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. I'm getting nervous. We really do have to get to the crime scene. Shit, why did I have to take this so far?

"You're really not going to go anywhere until I talk to you?" Her calmness surprises me. Maybe she wasn't as upset as I thought she was.

Is she playing me? No, breathe, stay cool. I affect arrogance. "What do you think?"

She sighs. "Right." She uncrosses her arms but says nothing further.

"Well?" I've got my jaw clenched so tight it's starting to hurt.

We stare at each other. Staring. Staring…"I didn't mean to slap you."

Yeah, now she's definitely trying to fuck with me. We're not going to get anywhere if she's lying straight to my face. I start the engine and fall back on sarcasm. "You didn't mean to slap me? Wait, does that mean you were trying to slap someone else or you meant for it to be an uppercut?"

That gets a rise out of her. "It means that it just happened. I didn't plan it. By the time I realized what I was doing it was too late."

"Yeah. Well, I guess I'm just lucky you didn't have your gun drawn." I yank down on the gearshift, but I can't seem to get the truck out of park. "Fucking…"

Her hand suddenly covers mine. "Stop." She pulls it into her lap. I turn in my seat and lean toward her. She's just done a 180 and I must have missed the turn because she's gone from upset to gently running her thumb against the back of my hand, tracing the thin arc of a faded scar. "You got this when we were moving into our apartment. We were carrying the couch in and I lost my grip."

I smile at the memory, surprised that she's bringing up something positive about our past, but no so much so that I cease to savor the feel of her touch. "Hm. You wrapped it up in a dishtowel because it was the first thing you could find." A stream of happy images fills my mind and I wonder if I ever could have been mad at her.

The gentle caresses stop abruptly and we're once again on different wavelengths. "I'm always hurting you, aren't I?"

The hand she isn't holding involuntarily reaches for my cheek. It doesn't hurt to touch, just to think about. "It was an accident." She's looking at me curiously and I take my hand off my cheek. "The couch, I mean."

"I'm sorry."

Her statement seems sincere, but it's also vague. I think it's a blanket apology for wrongs real and imagined. I guess I owe her the same. "I'm sorry, too."

"You shouldn't be."

"Why not?" I speak softly, wanting to keep her talking. At some point in the conversation, she's turned so we're face to face. Our knees touch in the well between the seats. Our fingers are intertwined. I'm again seized by the impulse that made me kiss her earlier.

The look in her eyes does nothing to discourage me. I starting to lean forward when she says, "You were right. I always made the choice to leave and I never let you have the choice to stay."

I have no idea what to say. I mean, yeah, she did all the leaving, but… I falter for a moment before saying, "I pushed you away. Or I pushed you too hard. I…I did something wrong, and not just…not just the night we had that fight, but before that and…Liv, all I wanted was to be with you. I should have fought harder. I should have proved to you that I would do anything for you." I should have stopped speaking before I started sounding like a crappy television script.

"Andy…" She's so close that I can feel her breath as she exhales my name and all my attention is fixed on her. "You scare me."

I'm suddenly sitting straight up and she looks like she's a million miles away. What have I ever done to frighten her? I've never hit her, never threatened her. We've had our shouting matches, but never anything violent. "What…w-why?"

"Because I don't want to feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I want to be with you again."

A horn rises and fades as a car passes. Everything is foggy. Olivia wants a relationship. Olivia doesn't want to get involved with me. Hot snow falls up.

She speaks first. "We really need to get to the scene."

Wait, we're still at work? "No, no, you…you didn't answer the question."

"It doesn't matter."

I'm falling down a dark hole, grasping for something to hold onto. Olivia slapped me. I'm mad at her because she slapped me. I stick with it. "Yeah. Cathedral, then?"

Fin meets us as we approach the crime scene tape ten minutes later, flashing our badges to get though the crowd of gawkers. His voice is low as he says, "We got some problems."

Damn, he's good.


	33. Chapter 32

A/N: Sorry, but I've just been very busy.

For once, Olivia couldn't wait to arrive at a crime scene. She jumped from Andy's car so quickly the moment they arrived at the Cathedral that she collided with a man standing in the crowd on the sidewalk. "Hey, watch it lady," he growled, his lip curled in an affronted sneer.

She didn't bother saying anything, but simply shoved her badge under his nose. He immediately backed off. Performing the same magic trick with a dozen other people, she fought her way to the front of the crowd. Without turning, she knew that Andy was directly behind her. There was no way she could really escape from him here. Or anywhere. Nothing she did seemed to put him off.

Her own tactics were the most likely source of blame for that, though. As she stepped past two whispering, pointing women, she performed a quick catalogue of the things she'd done to discourage him in the past day. For every kick, slap and insult, she found a kiss, smile or nostalgic moment. It was almost like she was taking one step forward and two steps back for every hour she spent with him. If things progressed at their current rate, they'd be engaged again by the time they caught Paige.

Paige. They were pushing their way through an alley behind St. Patrick's on a cold Friday evening because they were trying to catch a serial killer. She gathered herself by pulling her scarf tighter around her neck and nodded to Fin, who was waiting behind the tape. "We got some problems."

As Olivia ducked under the tape, she decided that she already knew what they were. The location was different, but everything else was the same – crime lab techs, precinct cops, Warner and her assistant – not Davis but some other guy who looked too young to be working in the ME's office – SVU detectives, US Marshals. And a naked, mutilated dead girl.

Fin continued speaking but she found herself unable to pay attention, her thoughts wandering back to the conversation she and Andy had had in the car, despite the equally grim scene in front of her. Why did he keep wanting to talk things through? It didn't make sense for him to try so hard now when he'd always given up so easily before. Or had he been telling the truth when he'd claimed that he'd just been trying to give her what she wanted? She found it hard to believe that someone as bull-headed as Andy Eckerson would repeatedly give in to her demands, without so much as a word of argument.

It was a weak defense, at best. He couldn't honestly expect her to believe that she possessed that much power over him. If he were telling the truth though….

She allowed her gaze to linger on his face for a moment, reminding herself of the expression he'd had when she'd told him he scared her. It was a lie, of course. It wasn't Andy that frightened her, exactly; it was the lack of control over her own feelings that she experienced every time she got too close to him. It hadn't been a problem when they'd first been together, had been exciting even, but now it was unwelcome. Working at SVU had always been her goal, but she hadn't expected the continual strain on her emotional control to be so intense. Adding Andy to the mix was out of the question. She told herself she was right in telling him she couldn't be with him. He was overly attentive and demanding of constant assurance and considerate and… she didn't want to think any more about all the things that Andy was and wasn't and could be.

She nodded mechanically as Fin spoke, still not listening to him. What she really wanted was a few days away from it all - a few days of shopping and eating out with friends she never saw anymore and not having to think about work. Maybe even a date.

She glanced at Andy again, but Dr. Warner's approach and greeting caused Olivia to refocus her attention on the scene.

"You finish your assessment, Doc?" Fin asked, indicating the coroner's attendants, who were now lifting the body onto a stretcher.

"I'll conduct the autopsy as soon as they deliver the body," Warner replied. "Sorry, but it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to tell you anything helpful. There's a considerable amount of vaginal bleeding, more than I noted on the other victims, but that could just be an indication of increased violence during the rape. I'm sure that's not the kind of lead you're looking for."

"She looked like she'd been cut up a little more than the first two, too," Fin continued.

Warner gently lifted the sheet covering the girl's face. "It's the same cut pattern. He may just have let her bleed longer. Or she might have a clotting condition that caused her to bleed more profusely. That could explain the excessive vaginal bleeding, but I'll have to run some tests before I can tell you."

As Olivia looked at the girl's mutilated face, her stomach seemed to drop by degrees until it lay on the cold ground.

Fin, who had already seen the body, did not sound affected as he said, "We'll probably be back at the precinct by the time you're ready for us. Thanks, Doc."

Olivia swallowed hard, watching the coroner's attendants shut the doors of their black van before turning to Fin and Andy. "That wasn't Sarah Obertello," she stated bluntly.

Both looked at her quizzically. Fin spoke slowly as he replied, "No. Vanessa Southern. Senior at BC."

She realized that Fin must have been filling them in about the identity of the victim as she had tuned out. She glared at Andy for a moment, as if he'd actively been distracting her from her job, before saying, "BC? As in Boston College?"

"Well, it's not British Columbia," Munch said, approaching with Healey and standing next to them.

Healey added, "It's just as well because the RCMP was incredibly uncooperative when we were forced to work with them last month and while I don't have any personal experience working with Boston PD, I've heard from a number of sources that they're much more reliable than other…"

Munch interrupted, "Cragen's already putting in a some calls to track her down." He paused, adjusting his hat in the wind. "You realize what this means?"

Even Healey was silent as Olivia said, "Jesus, Paige could have any number of girls from…from anywhere stashed." She stared down, preferring to contemplate the frozen blacktop instead of the hopeless expressions of her colleagues. They were going to have to start pulling missing persons reports from the entire East Coast. She suddenly felt incredibly selfish. How could she be so focused on herself when innocent girls were dying? Willing herself back to the moment, she asked, "Where's Elliot?"

"Turns out a nun found the body," Fin supplied. "We figured the altar boy could take care of the questioning. Aw, there he is."

Elliot emerged from a nondescript door of the church and walked over to the group. He acknowledged Olivia with a nod before recapping his interview with the nun. "Sister Catherine never saw the person who left the body. When she came out at 5:30 to put some trash in the dumpster, she saw it and called it in." He glanced down at his notebook. "I also spoke with a secretary who said she was out here taking a cigarette break just before 5. She didn't see the vic, but she did see the same car pass the entrance to the alley at least three times in the ten minutes she was out here."

Fin scowled. "Lemme guess…blue Jeep with wood paneling."

"No." Elliot checked his notes again. "Old Volvo station wagon, white, driver only, no passengers."

"I hope none of you used to drive a Volvo," Munch said, only half-joking.

The four detectives and two Marshals stood in the cold alley, not one of them willing to admit defeat. Fin abruptly spoke up, "The precinct cops have asked around, and they haven't found any witnesses to the drop, but they don't know about the station wagon. Maybe Elliot and I could go through the block with them again, see if someone saw somethin'."

"Right," Olivia said, eager to take some action. "So, the rest of us can head back to the precinct and start looking for white Volvo wagons while we wait on the crime lab."

They parted company and Olivia once again felt Andy on her heels as she pushed through the crowd to his car. She gave a terse, "No comment," to a knot of reporters that had collected behind the pack of oglers and jumped into the car almost as quickly as she'd gotten out of it. Andy joined her a moment later, starting the engine and navigating the cluster of news vans double-parked on the curb.

As soon as they were free of the spectacle at the scene, he asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm not the one who spaced at the crime scene." In spite of his slightly teasing tone, he was looking at her with concern. "You're really okay?"

"I'm just…I'm tired. I want this to be over."

"The case?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he repeated.

As they stopped at a red light, she was at a loss over what to say next. Admitting her fatigue had been a mistake. She yawned in an effort to overcome it. Her thoughts clouded. She was speaking again before she realized it. "I'm sorry I hit you. It was stupid and I shouldn't have done it."

He glanced at her, bewildered. "I…okay."

She smiled to reassure him. "Answer a question?"

"Uh, sure." He still seemed confused.

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"I've been trying."

She was surprised by how good the honesty felt. Her head felt clearer, lighter. She continued, "You're a better man than I've ever given you credit for. I'm sorry for that, too. And I'm not really scared of you."

He was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Where is all this coming from?"

"The light's green." She ran her hand through her hair, allowing her thoughts to flow from her new clarity. "I couldn't focus at the scene today because I was thinking about you, about the conversation we had in the car. I can't be effective in my job if I'm busy thinking about…other things."

"So, your internal efficiency inspector made you say all this?" He paused. "I shouldn't make jokes when you're finally being honest with me."

She smiled again. "Look, I just can't fight this anymore. At the very least, you're taking me out for a nice dinner after this case is over and I've had a nice long sleep and a shower at home. So we can stop talking about us now?"

"All right. One date. We don't discuss this while we're at work and then we take it from there."

"Right." She was starting to feel almost giddy by the time they arrived at the precinct.


	34. Chapter 33

Cragen sat in his office staring at the phone, waiting for a call from one of his people at the crime scene. The bottom drawer of his desk remained open, just as it had for the past two hours, but he hadn't laid a hand on its contents.

He glanced into it briefly, making sure that the bottle and glasses were still there. If he'd managed to leave them untouched before and after calling Vanessa Southern's parents, he certainly couldn't justify having a drink now. No, not having a drink – just taking the bottle and placing it on his desk. He didn't even have to take a glass out. Its presence would be enough.

An unstoppable, almost gravitational force drew his hand toward the bottle. His fingertips brushed the cool glass. The clear contents shifted ever so slightly. He yanked his hand back suddenly, as if he'd been burned. He hated needing a drink this badly. This case was steadily decreasing one day at a time to one minute at a time.

A blessed distraction, a movement in the squad room caught his eye. A moment later Olivia entered his office without knocking. She sat without acknowledging Cragen, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. He allowed her the time, thankful that her presence prevented him from diving into his desk drawer. He finally said, "You looked wiped."

"Uh-huh. I'll feel better once I've got my coffee." Almost on cue, Eckerson walked into the office carrying two cups. She smiled, took a few sips and turned back to Cragen. "Did Missing Persons get back to you yet?"

"Yeah. From what they were able to tell me, she got on a train around five on Sunday evening but never made it back to Boston. Took me a while to track down the report. It ended up getting filed in Providence."

"You honestly think she got to Rhode Island before Paige's son grabbed her?" Olivia sounded disgusted.

"I doubt she made it as far as Bridgeport, but that's not the issue. A ticket agent in Providence thought he saw a girl matching Southern's description leaving the station after her train stopped, and that's where the report got dumped."

"Well, that explains why she didn't make our list." She sighed. "She from New York?"

"New Jersey," Cragen provided. "Her boyfriend goes to college in the city. She was visiting him last weekend."

"Did you, uh, call yet?"

Cragen nodded, understanding the vague question perfectly. "Her parents are coming in to make the ID in the morning."

A thick silence fell in the office, punctuated only by Olivia's irregular sips of coffee. Just as Cragen was about to reach for the comfort of the bottle again, Eckerson asked, "You think Paige got the ticket guy in Providence to give a false statement?"

Olivia gave him a weak smile. "You sound like Munch."

Cragen crossed his hands in front of him, willing them both to remain on the desk and asked, "Speaking of John, where is everybody else?"

With a glance toward the squad room, Olivia replied, "Munch and Healey should be back any minute. Elliot and Fin stayed to work the block with the unis one more time."

"Anything I should know from the scene?"

"It looks like there's a new drop car – a white Volvo wagon," Eckerson said. "Other than that, nothing new."

Olivia cleared her throat. "Well, Warner said that it looked like there was more blood this time…but she won't know the exact reason why until the autopsy…"

Cragen knew why she'd trailed off. Discussing Paige's increasing level of violence wasn't exactly a conversation calculated to lift the spirits. His hand felt the familiar pull as he said, "You two sound like you could use more than coffee." The bottle appeared on his desk almost before he knew he was grasping its neck. He was filling the first glass when Olivia shook her head.

"Cap, we've got to go to the morgue later."

"You two have been working hard. I think you've earned one drink." He poured the second glass as he spoke. Olivia didn't object further as he pushed the glasses across the desk to them.

Cragen tried not to watch jealously as Eckerson swallowed his and Olivia sipped hers. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. Living vicariously certainly had its limits.

He was mercifully distracted again as Munch poked his head into the office. "Did my invitation get lost?"

Cragen nodded to the bottle on his desk. "I'm outta glasses. You better grab your coffee cup."

Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but Munch raised his hand. "I'll insert my own joke about how I'll need something stronger to erase the taste of what's usually in it."

As Munch returned with his cup, Cragen realized what was wrong. "Where's Healey?"

"Gone. Thank God."

Eckerson seemed furious. "She left again?"

"Mm-hm. But not before expressing her firm belief that the autopsy results will be the same whether she hears them tonight or tomorrow morning." Munch held his cup out for Cragen to fill. Olivia nudged hers forward, and he obliged her as well.

"I'd hate to be the odd man out," Eckerson said, passing his glass too. "You're not having any, Captain?"

"No," Cragen said a little too quickly. Taking a deep breath, he spoke more carefully. "I don't drink anymore."

Eckerson nodded slowly and finished his drink. Placing the glass firmly on the desk as he stood, he said, "I'm gonna call Healey and find out why she thinks she can keep ditching her job."

He opened the office door and a voice echoed in the squad room, "Hey! Hey! Is there anybody here?"

Olivia placed her own empty glass on the desk and was out the door behind Eckerson. Cragen heard her say, "I'm Det. Olivia Benson. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for a guy named Cragen."

He sighed, stood and walked out of his office, knowing he wasn't going to like whatever was about to happen. "I'm Capt. Cragen."

A tall, dark haired young man turned to look at him. "My girlfriend's parents just called me and told me that you called them and said you think she's dead. What kind of sick shit are you trying to pull here?"

Cragen frowned. "What's your name, son?"

"My name's Mark Williams and I'm not your son."

"Mark, if you'd step into my office, I can explain the situation to you."

Munch stepped out the door just as Cragen turned back to it, ushering Mark Williams in before him. As he sat down behind his desk, he realized why Munch had remained behind – the bottle was back in its drawer. He was momentarily relieved; it hardly seemed right to allow the young man seated in front of him to think that the people assigned to catch his girlfriend's killer were sitting around downing shots of vodka on the job. He made a mental note to thank Munch for his forethought later.

"So why did you call Vanessa's parents and tell them she's dead?" Mark was perched on the edge of his seat, his knees bobbing up and down relentlessly as his heels bounced off the floor.

Cragen took a deep breath. He wished he'd asked John or Olivia to sit in, lend their silent support. His voice was quiet as he said, "Mark, I know this is going to be difficult, but…" He cleared his throat. "We found a body matching Vanessa's description at St. Patrick's this afternoon."

Mark gave a nervous snort of laughter. "You got everyone all worked up over someone that might be her? I mean, no one's even identified the body right? You guys don't just say people are dead unless someone recognizes the body. I've seen enough cop shows to know…"

"We found her wallet with the body," Cragen interrupted, wishing there were an easier way to break the news, but knowing that dragging it out would just intensify the cruelty of the shock.

Mark's eyes went wide. "That…that doesn't prove anything. Someone could have stolen her wallet." His voice cracked. "It isn't her."

"I'm sorry," Cragen replied, working hard to make his voice more than a whisper.

Hanging his head, Mark repeated, "It isn't her. She's not dead." He suddenly looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "You have to let me see her. I can tell you it's not her."

"We've asked Vanessa's parents to come in the morning, so that won't be necessary." Cragen tried not to think about the condition the body was in right now – filleted on a cold table in the morgue, the cuts on her face not even cleaned yet. He shook his head to clear the image. "I know this is difficult, but if there is anything you can tell us about the last time you saw Vanessa, it would really help us find the person who did this to her."

"Did what to her? She's not dead. SHE'S NOT DEAD!" He stood as he shouted, slamming his fists against the desk. "Why do you keep saying she dead when she's not!"

Cragen stood slowly, waving off Olivia and Eckerson, standing in the doorway, presumably drawn by the yelling. "Mark, I know it's hard, but I need you to calm down. How about you sit down, and Det. Benson will get you a soda, or a coffee, or whatever you want."

Mark's voice broke with a sob. "I want to see Vanessa." All the commanding desperation had disappeared from his tone, replaced with something sad and vulnerable.

Cragen stepped around his desk, squeezing Mark's shoulder as he reached him. "In the morning. Her parents will be here in the morning and you can see her when they do. And we can talk in the morning too. We'll, uh, give you a few minutes alone." He noted that Olivia placed a box of tissues on his desk before leaving, and wondered why he didn't have any of his own. He shut the door to give Mark some privacy.

As he glanced around the squad room, Cragen saw that the evidence boards had been turned around to conceal the grisly photos they contained. Munch sat at his desk, eyes fixed on the computer screen as his fingers tapped the keys. Eckerson was at Olivia's desk, drumming his fingers on her blotter.

Olivia suddenly stepped in front of Cragen, offering him a cup of coffee. "I take it we're not going to be asking him any questions tonight?"

"Nope. Thanks." He lifted his cup in a small salute. "In fact, can you see if anyone is available to take him home?" She nodded and walked over to her desk.

Cragen paused in front of his own door, jiggling the knob to give Mark fair warning of his entrance. He kept his eyes averted as he moved slid behind his desk, giving Mark the chance to wipe his cheeks and conceal the damp ball of tissues with his fist. "You're in college in the city?"

"Yeah. NYU."

The small talk was painfully forced, but Cragen wanted to be delicate. "And you live in the dorms?"

Mark sniffed. "Uh-huh."

"It's probably pretty noisy there on a Friday night."

"Yup."

"Is there somewhere else you could stay?"

He finally looked up. "My sister and her husband have an apartment in Chelsea."

"Okay. Would you like us to give you a ride there?" Cragen asked gently.

"Yeah. That would be…but what about…what about Vanessa?" His voice cracked with a fresh sob as he said her name.

"You leave us your sister's number and we'll give you a call in the morning, tell you where to go and what time."

Mark had to check his cell phone for the number, but managed to write it down shakily. As Cragen guided him out of the office into the care of two uniformed officers, he said, "You promise you'll call."

"We'll call. Try and get some rest."

As soon as Mark and the officers had left the squad room, Olivia said, "Captain, I think maybe you should come to the morgue with us. Warner just called and she sounded…well, not upset, but…it sounded like something's wrong."

Cragen checked his watch. "She can't be done with the autopsy already."

"Well, whatever she found sounds serious," she replied, pulling on her coat.

"Let's hope it busts the case wide open. I hate to call the shockingly large number of white-Volvo-wagon-driving individuals living in the city," Munch said, standing and stretching.

"I'm gonna hit the john and grab my coat. I'll meet you three downstairs," Cragen said, waving the small group toward the hall.

As he retrieved his coat from his office on his way back from the bathroom, he noticed that Munch's coffee cup was still sitting on his desk, untouched. He contemplated the contents for a moment, indecisively raising the cup to his lips. He inhaled, smelling nothing, but feeling the heavy fumes invade his sinuses. Just as he was about to break down and tip the clear liquid into his eager mouth, his glance fell on the chair Mark Williams had been sitting in not fifteen minutes before.

Cragen nearly gagged. His head swam as he searched for someplace, anyplace other than his own body to deposit the liquor. He saw the trashcan and stood over it, forcing his hand to invert the mug. The vodka made the barest splash as it came into contact with the plastic liner. He let out his breath as the moment of weakness passed.

Taking the stairs instead of the elevator on his way to the lobby, he used the time and exercise to clear his mind. 'One minute at a time, Don. One minute at a time.'


	35. Chapter 34

Elliot buttoned his coat against the wind as he stepped out of the McDonald's where he and Fin had just eaten with the local sergeant. Across the street, uniforms patrolled the now empty crime scene, occasionally accosted by reporters demanding statements.

The sergeant, Babson, said, "We're gonna keep a visible presence in the area over the weekend, so if anyone remembers anything or comes forward as a witness, you'll be the first to know." He shook hands with both Elliot and Fin before striding purposefully toward the cordoned-off area.

The two SVU detectives walked in the other direction, toward their car. When he judged they were out of earshot, Elliot said, "So do you think he meant he'll actually call us first, or we'll be the first to know after he's done briefing the local NBC affiliate?"

Fin let out a snort of laughter. "You see the way he was almost droolin' when he found out Cragen wasn't here to do the meet n' greet? Man, these future police commissioners live for these kinda crimes." He paused. "Sick bastards."

"Too bad that some of 'em are on our side," Elliot replied, unlocking the car doors. He turned on the engine and cranked the heat. His cell phone rang just as the airflow changed from cold to lukewarm. "Yeah?" he answered, more abrasively than he'd intended.

He was taken completely off guard when Lizzie's voice greeted him. "Dad, can I go to a sleep-over at Jenny's house tonight? Mom said I had to ask you before she'd say yes."

"Sweetie, why are you calling me at work for something like that?"

"Mom said I couldn't go unless you said it was all right! So, can I?"

Elliot wondered why his wife was suddenly seeking his advice. He tried to call up an image of Jenny, of her parents, but was unsuccessful. He decided to take the safe route. "Let me talk to mom."

Lizzie sighed dramatically, but her shout echoed through the phone as she called for her mother. Elliot heard her distant voice saying, "Dad wants to talk to you."

A moment later, Kathy was on the line. "Hi."

"Hi. So what's up?"

"Oh, Lizzie's friend Jenny asked her if she wanted to sleep over tonight and I told Lizzie it was okay as long as you said it was okay."

"Uh-huh. That's it?"

"That's it," she repeated.

His police logic suddenly kicked in. For some reason, Kathy didn't want Lizzie to go to Jenny's, but she didn't want to be the bad guy, so she was making him be the one to say no. He felt a flash of anger, but quashed it by bringing up legitimate concerns. "Is there some reason she shouldn't go? Bad neighborhood, untrustworthy parents, that kind of thing?"

"Elliot, her parents are Mike and Lisa…they go to our church, live a few blocks away…"

As Kathy went through her checklist, he gradually remembered the family. He couldn't see a reason why Kathy wouldn't want Lizzie spending the night at their house. He interrupted, saying, "Yeah, I remember them. They're nice people."

"Of course they are."

"Then why are you telling Lizzie to call and get my permission?"

"Because you're her father and I think you should be involved!"

Elliot was struck by the emphasis placed she placed on 'involved,' and suddenly saw how deeply he had misjudged his wife's intentions. She was including him in parental decisions to make him feel how distant he was from them. He felt the anger he'd worked to quell earlier in the conversation seeping into his tone. "Do you think I like being away from you all the time? That I enjoy spending Friday night at work instead of …?"

Kathy cut him off, "We're not having this fight. Not now and not over the phone. A simple yes or no for Lizzie will be fine for now."

He held his temper, not allowing his frustration to affect his voice any more as he answered tersely, "If it's fine with you, it's fine with me."

"Good. I take it we shouldn't be expecting you tonight?"

For someone who didn't want to start a fight, she was certainly trying to bait him. He didn't nibble. "I don't know. It depends on how the case goes."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Kathy…" He knew she was fishing for an apology. She was fast becoming the most manipulative person he'd ever met. Or maybe it just seemed that way because she was manipulating him. And the night before everything had seemed to be all right… He sighed, resigning himself to whatever was going to come, mountain or molehill, from missing another night at home. "Kiss the kids for me. I love you. Goodnight."

She responded almost mechanically, "I love you too." The dial tone that followed contained more emotion than her voice. He snapped the phone shut and shoved it roughly into his coat pocket.

Only after he had done this did he remember that Fin was sitting in the car with him. Turning sheepishly, he was relieved to find that his colleague was facing away, talking on his own cell phone. "Yeah, we'll see you there in a little bit then. Thanks, Olivia."

"What's up?" Elliot asked after Fin hung up.

"Everybody's goin' to the morgue. We're meetin' 'em there."

"Right." Elliot shifted the car into drive and made a u-turn in the street. Clicking on the radio, he found a news station. They rode in the company of a report on the rising rate of car thefts in the five boroughs.

After a few blocks, Fin interrupted a debate on the war in Iraq to ask, "Everything okay? Uh, with your family, I mean."

"Um…" Elliot began, unsure of what to say. What was going on with his family?

Fin seemed to take the lack of response as an accusation. "I wasn't tryin' to eavesdrop, but it ain't exactly a giant car…"

"No, I just don't really know what to say. It just seems like every time I talk to Kathy I'm trying to avoid a fight. Or something." Elliot was grateful that Fin didn't pursue the conversation further.

The arrived at the morgue a few minutes later. Elliot parked next to Eckerson's Suburban, feeling the slightest twinge of satisfaction when he threw his door open and it collided with the side of the SUV, leaving a barely noticeable mark.

He shivered as he pushed open the door to the morgue, having only a moment to contemplate the lack of temperature difference indoors and out before he heard shouting. Indistinct words echoed through the frozen halls in a familiar voice. Elliot increased his pace, rounding the corner in time to see his partner and Eckerson disappear in Warner's office behind a slamming door.

He glanced at the stunned faces that greeted his arrival. "What's going on?"

No one managed to answer, but Cragen pointed to a piece of paper on a table. The gesture produced a vague recollection of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come pointing to Scrooge's own grave in the play Elliot had attended at the twins school just before Christmas break.

He remained impassive as he read the note, willing himself to wake up in familiar surroundings with his family safely contained around him. When no such thing happened, he calmly removed his phone from his pocket and dialed.


	36. Chapter 35

Overall, I'm feeling pretty good right now. Olivia promised me a date, Cragen gave me a couple shots of vodka, and Healey went home, a double stroke of luck since I get to bitch at her for leaving and enjoy her not being here all at the same time. I'm so the man.

I remind myself not to smile because we're driving to the morgue to get what sounds like bad news from the ME. I glance to my right automatically, wanting to reassure myself that I'm not imagining being here with Olivia, but it's Cragen in the passenger seat. She's in the back. My eyes drift to the rearview, but all I can see are the headlights of the cars behind me.

I stare harder into the mirror, waiting for the lights of an oncoming car to illuminate her face, flash in her eyes. I just want to know she's there. I glance peremptorily at the road, and my original intention of turning around to look at her is erased by the sudden appearance of glowing red lights in front of me. I slam on my brakes, stopping just short of the other car's bumper. "Jesus Christ," I exhale vehemently.

"You okay, Eckerson?" Cragen is looking at me with concern. He's probably wondering if he shouldn't have given me anything to drink.

"No…I mean yeah. I'm just a little tired." I can feel him watching me as I accelerate from the light, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the road. This isn't a fucking date; it's an active criminal investigation. Why can't I remember that for more than five seconds at a stretch?

Liv told me that having things settled would help her keep her mind on work. She's either a fantastic liar or completely different than I remember. Or maybe she just isn't as much like me as I thought. Or maybe this doesn't matter as much to her…

I push that thought out of my mind as I park outside the morgue. Have I been making a complete ass of myself the past few days? Jesus, I really shouldn't have had that second drink. I'm thinking way too much. Olivia promised me a date; I've just got to take it from there.

I take a deep breath of cold air as I get out of the car. It feels good, refreshing. I close my eyes and try to enjoy being awake. It's a lot easier to do after I open them and see Olivia looking at me over the hood of the car. She doesn't look away, but gives me a slight smile. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah. I think the heat in the car was just making me tired. I really could use a few days off though…can't wait til we're done with this case." I look at her expectantly, hoping she's taken my hint.

She just nods, looking away. "Well, maybe Warner's got something for us." She points to the door that Munch is holding open expectantly. I follow, reflecting on how glad I am that all she had in her locker this morning was a pair of jeans.

The expression on Dr. Warner's face as we walk in is enough to quash any hopes that she's called us here for good news. It also eliminates thoughts about legs. She gives us the general rundown first, but Cragen interrupts her two sentences in, "Why'd you call us down here, Doc?"

"We found a note during the autopsy," she says after a slight hesitation, indicating a tray with a bloody plastic bag and a small jar on it.

"During the autopsy?" Cragen asks incredulously. "Sorry, Doc, but why did you miss it at the crime scene?"

Warner sighs, as if she anticipated the question. "This time it wasn't external. I found it during the rape exam."

Munch gives a snort of disgust. "Raping her wasn't enough? He has to go and shove a note to us inside her when he's done?"

"It gets worse," Warner replies, lifting the jar from the tray. Inside it is a small fleshy-looking thing. A finger maybe? But the corpse wasn't missing any fingers…

I stare, squinting my eyes as I try to make out details. There's a swelling or something at one end, and it's curved. I've just decided that it's got to be at least a piece of a finger when I hear Olivia gasp. Her nails are suddenly digging into my wrist.

"Is that…?" she begins, her voice betraying her, carrying fear and revulsion and I don't know what. Definitely not a finger, but what the hell…?

Warner nods to Olivia and answers my unasked question almost immediately. "It's a fetus. I'd say about 8 weeks based on the size. It was…in the bag with the note."

Olivia's throat works visibly for a moment, but she's still the first to ask, "And where's the note?"

"I sent the original to the print lab." Warner removes her gloves as she walks to a table against the wall and comes back with a piece of white paper. She seems almost reluctant as she hands it to Cragen. "This is a copy. It's…hmm…" she trails off.

Cragen holds the paper so all four of us can read it.

_No riddles this time, kids. It's probably best that Vanessa went this way – I doubt Olivia and Andy could handle someone else's miscarriage either. And much love to the Stabler family, much luckier in the live birth department. Hope the children sleep tight._

_T._

Whirling. The room is whirling a million miles an hour. Blood pounds in my ears, blocking out all the things that no one is saying. My hand reaches for the note, but stops halfway. I didn't imagine what I just read and rereading it sure as hell isn't going to change it.

A rattling sound, metal bouncing on metal, calls me back to my senses enough to drop my arm. Olivia is gripping the edge of the metal table, transmitting the tremors running through her body to the cold steel. Oh, Jesus, she's read the note.

Cragen is trying to talk to her. "Liv, just relax…"

How did I not hear her shallow, rapid breathing right away?

"I'm fine. Fine. I just…I just need a few minutes…"

Warner points to a door. "If you want to use my office…" She doesn't seem like the type to leave sentences unfinished. Why am I even noticing that? With some effort, I pull Olivia toward the office. She doesn't fight me. I push her into the office and slam the door behind us.

She looks at me for a moment, her eyes full of pain and anger, before she explodes, "How does he fucking know? How does that disgusting son of a bitch know?"

"I don't know, Liv, I don't know." I'm trying to stay calm, but I think I'm just as freaked as she is. Terry Paige knowing one of the most personal things about our relationship is seriously fucked up. "We've just gotta stay calm." She's been walking back and forth rapidly in the small space between the wall and the desk since we got in here and it's making me even more nervous. "We're gonna figure this out but you've gotta relax."

She goes on like she can't hear me. "Jesus fucking Christ, how did he find out? How the fuck did he know about that?"

I grab her firmly by the shoulders, forcing her to stop her frantic pacing. "Slow down. Let's just calm down for a second."

"Calm down? CALM DOWN? That sick fucking bastard went out and found a pregnant girl so he could rip her baby out of her to taunt me and you want me to calm down?"

She hits my forearms to break my grip, but my hands were already dropping from her shoulders anyway. "What do you mean 'taunt you'? This was aimed at both of us…and Stabler and his family, too. It's not personal…" I trail off lamely. As if anything could be more personal.

Olivia's glare tells me that that's exactly what she's thinking. "The son of a bitch. I mean, Christ, does he have my medical records? Is he talking to my friends? To old co-workers?"

"This isn't just about you!" I shout, wanting her to stop talking, wanting a moment to think. I lean over the desk, my palms flat against its cool surface as I hang my head. I've just got to collect my thoughts, figure out what to say to make things make sense, make things better. Shit, I've never been good at the last one. I just need a minute…

I don't get it. Her voice is calmer but scarier as she says, "How dare you? A psychopath is using the worst thing that ever happened to me against me and you're gonna stand there and tell me it's not personal?"

I seize on the only coherent thought I'm having. "Worst thing that happened to us. Us. You and me."

"Andy, you have no idea what it was like."

My jaw drops as I stare at her in disbelief. "I was there…I remember…"

"It didn't happen to you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Drop it."

"Hell no. We lost our baby. You hear the words here? We. Our. Now Terry Paige knows about it and we're gonna have to deal with it."

"Why?"

The question is so basic that it catches me completely off guard. "Because…because…"

"Right." The word sounds like a door being slammed. She's trying to close the book on the subject, keep it all bottled up so she can pretend there's nothing wrong. But everything is wrong.

I can't just let this go. "Because we've been avoiding it for ten years and it's gotten us nowhere."

"Andy, I am not going to do this right now. Let's just go back out there and do our jobs."

"No." I step in front of the door, blocking her exit.

"Andy…" Her voice rises, a note of panic almost detectable in it. "Let me out."

"No." I stand my ground as she edges closer. "What are you so afraid of?"

There's a moment of complete silence during which the world moves in slow motion. I see her fist flying at me, but she's at an awkward angle. I dodge the blow and grab her wrist, pulling her arm behind her to restrain her. "Hitting me isn't gonna fix anything. You've already tried it, remember?"

"Do you mean today or then?" She struggles for a moment, but I keep her pinned, my arm secure around her waist. She gives a last, half-hearted flail before going nearly limp. Then, with no warning, her arms are wrapped around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder, and she's…sobbing? This can't be right. She wants to punch me and now she's bawling in my arms?

Still, for some reason, I can't seem to hold her tight enough.


End file.
